Between Goals
by tiffanyanne3
Summary: He's green eyes, messy hair, and a brilliant smile. He's confusing and exasperating. He's just a teammate, the goalie for our recreational soccer club, but when it comes to our flirtation, he plays forward. I didn't particularly like Edward Cullen the first couple of times I met him. But now? I want him. This is what happens between goals. BxE, rated M for the usual reasons.
1. Chapter 1

He's green eyes. He's a brilliant smile. He's an interesting shade of artfully messy hair.

He's exasperating. He's confusing.

He's just a teammate in our recreational soccer club.

A teammate who _happens_ to be gorgeous.

But he's also incredibly egotistical, which is a major turnoff.

In fact, the first time I met Edward Cullen, I didn't particularly like him. We argued over something inconsequential in the dive bar we frequent after practice. We butted heads over some stupid thing I can't even remember now, and I spent the next two weeks thinking he was a jerk. Eventually, I forgave and forgot, and we became friends.

And now?

I want him.

I'm not completely sure when the flirting started, but it wasn't long after that insignificant post-practice clash. Maybe it was _because_ of that clash. Maybe he liked it when I stood my ground and didn't give in to his pretty face and his sexy pout. Maybe somewhere deep down, I liked that he didn't give in either.

Thursdays have become my most favorite day of the week. All day, I'm overcome with anticipation. When Cullen walks onto the training field, my heart rate picks up even before I've taken a single running step. Every time. And afterwards, when we all adjourn to this hole-in-the-wall bar, I thrill at every word we exchange, every innocent touch. Sometimes I feel awkward when he's near, but sometimes I'm downright coquettish. A brushing of arms here, a poke in the side there. I try to avoid staring into sea green eyes, ogling leanly muscled arms, gaping at his gorgeous grin that hitches up a tad bit higher on the left than the right.

It's enough to make a girl want to go to pieces.

We've developed this weird bond. I'm not even sure if that's the right word for it. He picks on me. I pick back. We tease each other shamelessly. But he also talks to me. Tells me things. Truthfully, I still can't distinguish between fact and bullshit when it comes to him, but I _think_ he's mostly genuine with me. I could be wrong, just like the rumored dozens of other girls he's left in his wake.

See, Cullen has this…reputation. According to stories that beg to be repeated again and again, he's something of a Lothario. But then there's this side of him—and I'm not sure how many people actually see that side—that makes him seem like he could be a good-hearted, caring person in a place where his reputation doesn't precede him. Though he has this devil-may-care attitude and an ego like _whoa_ , there's so much more to him than that. I've seen tiny glimpses of a sweet, humble side. It's in there somewhere. I know it is.

I'm bound and determined to find it.

* * *

A light rain falls over us during Thursday evening practice. It feels amazing as it washes away the sheen of sweat that covers my body. I love to sweat, but hot damn, it's sweltering out. Charleston summers are brutal at best. The sun scorches. The air presses down heavy, sticky, oppressive. There are some days when the only relief comes in the form of an afternoon thunderstorm.

When the sky begins to grumble and threatens lightning, we cut out early and go straight to the bar. As soon as I arrive, I down a cup of water, drink a quick beer, and order some hot wings. When I return, Cullen is holding court, regaling the new guy—I think his name's Ben—with the infamous story of the girl who just wouldn't quit at the championships after-party last year. I wasn't there, hadn't joined the team yet, but I've heard the tale umpteen times. I struggle to suppress an eyeroll as I situate myself on a barstool next to where he's standing.

Needless to say, I don't particularly like this story.

"So I'm just standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink, right?" Cullen says, gesturing with his beer can. "This girl just sidles right up to me—"

" _Sidles_?" Jasper Whitlock, one of our teammates, says with a smirk on his face.

Cullen huffs. "Creeps, edges, whatever."

"Why can't she just walk? Why does she have to—"

"Fuck off, Whitlock! I'm trying to tell a story here."

I snort at their bromantic teasing, and Edward purses his lips and gives me the side-eye.

"Anyway, this chick's right next to me, and she starts rambling on about something. She's completely wasted. I can't understand half of what she's saying, right? So while she's talking, she starts rubbing my back in this really creepy way." He takes a moment to demonstrate on the closest person, which happens to be me.

My entire body stiffens, and I jump under the warmth of his hand spread out over my spine. Just as quickly as I felt his light touch, I feel the absence of it. The look on his face doesn't escape me as he switches his beer to the hand that was just touching me.

I'm left without explanation. What was that look? That glance that lasted no more than a couple of seconds? It almost looked like…hurt. Not that I'm sadistic and _want_ him to be hurt. It's just nice to think that maybe his touch was more than just an illustration to accompany his story.

 _Wishful thinking,_ I tell myself. Because no matter how much I love to flirt with him, I'm not sure I could ever actually pursue anything with him. These stories…they can be pretty sordid. Granted, only a handful of them come from him, but like I said, he has this reputation. It's got to come from somewhere.

For now, I just delight in the tingly feeling his touch left on my skin.

* * *

 **A/N:** This Edward is definitely a departure from the others I've written, but this will still be fun. The story takes place in my hometown of Charleston, SC, just because. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks to my dear Rachelfish for her help and enthusiasm, and thanks to you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

An hour or so later, I take advantage of a moment of solitude on my barstool, propped up against the half wall behind me. I glance around to make sure no one's reading over my shoulder before I shoot off a text to my best friend-slash-roommate, Alice Brandon. She knows all about my slight obsession.

 _Alice. He touched me. On purpose._

I punctuate my statement with basically every emoji ever before I send it off into the void, then automatically delete the text thread. You know. Just in case someone _does_ decide to peek over my shoulder or pick up my phone. You never know with this crowd.

My phone dings immediately with a text back.

 _Touched you? What do you MEAN? Don't leave me hanging! Are you naked? Because ew._

She sends her own series of emoji to emphasize her excitement.

My fingers fly over the screen, prompted by her mutual flailing. _I'm silly. Not like we've never touched. It was just different._

 _Not silly. He's srsly cute._

I laugh out loud this time and send her the requisite three-letter response.

 _Almost there,_ she adds. Alice hates sports and all things outdoorsy, but she says she fully supports the drinking part. It's not uncommon for her to join us after training sessions for a few.

"What are you giggling about over here?" a smooth voice asks from beside me.

Cullen.

I jump and immediately delete the text thread. "Um. Nothing. Just a cute text from a friend."

His smirk is beautiful as he hands me a new beer. "Looks like you're running on empty there, champ."

A hot flush spreads over my face, and I'm thankful that it's too dark in this dive bar for him to see it. "Thanks." I pop the top and take an icy cold gulp to quell the embarrassed heat coursing through me.

He pulls another barstool up next to mine and bumps my shoulder with his. I discretely switch my phone to airplane mode, terrified that he'll somehow intercept an embarrassing text from Alice.

This stupid crush has turned me into a paranoid mess.

"What's new with you?" he asks.

I shrug and search my brain for something witty to say. But as usual, when his arm brushes against mine and he turns that half-buzzed grin on me, I've got nothing. "Uh, not much. You?"

His eyes dart away, and he shrugs as he takes a long pull from his beer. When I follow his gaze, I see Alice making her way toward us. She's barely made it inside the door, and she's already got a tray of shots. I groan, and Cullen elbows me. He knows Fireball makes me loose-lipped and loose-limbed.

"Hello, lovely people. And Cullen." Alice winks at me and hands me a tiny glass.

"Are you implying that I'm not lovely?" he asks. "I mean, you're buying me shots. I think that indicates the opposite."

"Hush." She hands Whitlock another tiny glass. Alice has her own flirtation going on with Jasper. They're in this back-and-forth place going nowhere, too, except theirs is…sweeter somehow. I'm almost jealous.

"I'm looking for a new job," Cullen announces after the shots are gone. "I quit mine last week."

Alice holds up a hand. "Wait. You quit your job before you found a new one?"

He nods in that nonchalant, _I'm-so-aloof_ way of his.

"Aaaaand you just expect to find a new job"—she snaps her fingers—"like _that_."

He furrows his brow and shrugs.

"You know the job market is pretty rough right now, right?"

I elbow Alice and play Switzerland. "I'm sure he's got lots of prospects. Right, Cullen?"

"I want to do medical sales," he says plainly, looking at me and no one else.

"I can see you as a salesman," I tell him, raising an eyebrow. "You're pretty sly."

He takes a swig of beer and smirks back. "I think you mean charming."

"Sneaky," says Alice.

"Sneaky. Charming. _Sly_. Same thing." He strokes his lightly stubbled jaw. "And who can say no to a moneymaker like this?"

I snort. "Yeah, you're charming all right. You know, a little humility would do you good."

"Never understood the point of humility."

"No kidding." Alice rolls her eyes and turns away, no doubt in search of Whitlock.

Cullen chuckles as he watches her go. Sometimes it's hard to know when he's teasing and when he's not. This is one of those times. He's gorgeous. He knows it. So maybe he's right…what _is_ the point of denying it?

The bar is just a few blocks from our house, so Alice and I usually walk home after nights like this. We're leaving a bit earlier than usual tonight. Alice has to fly out early in the morning for a wedding in Seattle, and I've got a meeting with an important client tomorrow. It's only been a few months since I went out on my own and opened my tiny, fledgling PR business. I've worked in public relations in one form or another since I graduated college. I figured thirty-two is a prime age to strike out on my own. I don't have enough business yet to hire anyone else, but so far it's kept me afloat.

We linger on the patio out front, saying goodbye to the others. Whitlock says something into Alice's ear and touches her elbow sweetly, so I turn away and start to tell Cullen goodbye. When he gathers me into his side for a half-hug, his whiskers catch strands of my long hair, and I thrill at the fact that he just pressed his cheek to the top of my head. When things like that start to get to me, I know it's time for me to cut myself off and go home.

"I think I'm gonna go, too," he says, guiding me toward Alice and Whitlock.

"What, no good prospects for you tonight?" I tease as we make our way out the door.

"I don't just take home random girls," he answers, eyes flickering to me for a split second.

This guy. He says it with such conviction that I sort of believe him. Sometimes he's adamant that the stories people tell are complete crap. Other times, he seems to play along with their ribbing. He's an enigma that I shouldn't care so much about; but I've never been one to buy into the whole "should" thing. It only makes me want to find out more.

Whitlock snorts. "Yeah, okay, Cullen."

"I'm thirty-four years old," he says, shrugging. "I'm too old for that shit."

 _One can only hope_ , I think to myself.


	3. Chapter 3

Another Thursday night. Another night of training. Another night of drinking.

Another night of Cullen.

I want to stare at his face forever. I think I probably could. But I don't want to get caught, so I force myself to look away. I attempt to pay attention to my conversation with McCarty and his wife Rose, who occasionally joins us for afters. But I can still see Cullen from my peripheral vision. Every now and then, I allow myself to casually sneak a peek over the rim of my beer can.

I'll be damned if he doesn't catch me every single time.

And every single time, I avert my gaze too quickly to see his reaction. I'm sure he's smirking at me in that nearly condescending way of his. I get irritated just thinking about it, which is enough to make me keep my eyes and ears focused on the conversation going on around me. Then I get even _more_ irritated that I give him the power to make me feel that way without him even saying a word.

I hear Alice's voice inside my head like she's some sort of Jiminy Cricket. _He can only make you feel something if you let him._ She's so right.

* * *

"What's up?" Cullen asks when I sit down across from him a while later.

"Bellaaa," New Guy, aka Ben Cheney, slurs. He scored his first goal in a scrimmage tonight, so people have been buying him drinks all night. "How you doin', gorgeous?"

I giggle at the way Ben slurs and draws out his words, but when I turn my eyes back to Cullen, a strange look flashes in his eyes. It raises goosebumps on my skin.

"I'm good, Ben. You?"

"Feelin' juuuuust fine," he says with a wink.

Cullen stands quickly, his barstool skittering backward from under him. He slows his movements when I startle and look up at him. "I'm just gonna…" He gestures vaguely with his thumb and stalks out the back door to the patio.

"What's the deal with you guys?" Ben asks, pushing his empty can away and propping his chin on his fist.

"I don't know what you mean." I think my answer might be too hasty to be taken seriously, but he's drunk. He won't remember this.

"C'mon. Why do you think he left? He's jealous."

"Cheney."

"Swan."

I grin and shake my head. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it, though? Y'all flirt like crazy."

"We're friends."

"Friends can flirt," he insists.

"Who's flirting?" Whitlock says, pulling up a stool next to mine.

"No one!" I say quickly. "No one's flirting.

"Whoa." Whitlock holds up his hands and changes the subject, lowering his voice. "Is Alice coming tonight?"

"Yeah, she'll be here soon." It looks like he's trying to hide a smile, but my current mood won't allow me to let him get away with it. "Why don't you just ask her out already?"

His forehead scrunches. "Why would I do that?"

" _Oh_ my god," I say, slamming my hands down on the table. "Boys."

"What'd I do?" Ben asks, lifting his head from the table.

I turn to Rose and Kate and join in their safer, satisfyingly boring conversation about work.

* * *

By eleven o'clock, there are just a few of us stragglers left. Whitlock and Alice abandoned us a while ago for the pool table, but the rest of us are gathered around some late-night cheese fries.

"Looks like it's just us couples left," Ben jokes, winking at me. The only actual couples here are Emmett and Rose McCarty and Garrett and Kate Allen. I can see where Ben would think Alice and Whitlock are a couple, because they gravitate toward each other no matter where we are. It's like I said; their flirtation is sweet.

And just like that, I have one of those moments of pure clarity.

Ben.

I think he likes me.

I take a step or two backward without realizing it at first. My eyes find Cullen's, and he looks amused, like I've just been let it on some secret joke. There's a pause before he smirks at me and holds his arm out, pulling me into his side.

"Oh, yeah. Just us couples," he says sarcastically.

I lean my head against his shoulder, and my pulse races even though I know he's joking. The others laugh like they know I'd never be foolish enough to consider something like that with Cullen. I join in, despite the fact that I get secretly giddy every time he touches me.

"Don't let Whitlock hear you say they're a couple," I tell Ben, eyeing Alice as she leans over the pool table. She's awful at pool, but if it's a way for her to be semi-alone with Whitlock, she's game.

"Why?" Cullen asks.

I laugh again and step out of his half-embrace. "Are you kidding me? They've been doing this one-step-forward, one-step-back thing for months, and when I ask him why he doesn't just ask her out, he acts like he doesn't know what I mean."

"Why doesn't she make a move, then?"

I open my mouth to counter, but he's got a point. Even though Alice and Whitlock are a couple of years younger than me, we're all too old for this nonsense. Sometimes it's like junior high all over again with this group.

Instead of playing games, I go with a straight answer. "Maybe she's afraid."

"She shouldn't be."

The way he's looking at me makes me wonder who we're actually talking about now.

* * *

 **A/N:** If you missed it last chapter, I went back to the beginning and changed their sport to soccer. I was getting too many messages about it, and it was really irritating. I wouldn't normally do something like that, but I had to for my own sanity. Thanks for reading. :)


	4. Chapter 4

One of the best things about working from home is that I can start my workday whenever I want. I've got a lunch meeting with a potential client today, though, so I'm up and at 'em by nine. I pour some coffee and fix a bowl of cereal before stumbling bleary-eyed into my home office and opening my laptop. While I wait patiently for my caffeine buzz to kick in, I check emails and social media.

I open up Facebook, where a red number three tells me that I have messages. When I click on the notifications icon, one name in particular jumps out at me.

 _Edward Cullen_ _posted on your timeline._

I do a double-take. Cullen wrote on my Facebook wall? _Do people even say that anymore?_ I shake off my internal question and swallow my girly ridiculousness, turning my attention to the other two posts and saving his for last. My mom posted a horrible picture of me in a food coma from last Thanksgiving. I untag myself posthaste. Because I have horrible luck and didn't untag it in time, the other notification happens to be a "like" from Alice on said picture. It doesn't bother me for long, because I have a more pressing matter to attend to. I click again, and what I see—there on my Facebook wall for my entire world to see—is the last thing I would ever expect.

 _Hey, stranger. I just came across your Facebook page and decided to let you know that you're beautiful._

My head spins, and then my heart takes off like a helicopter as that last word stands out among the rest. I mean…did he post that on the right profile?

In the next second, I know beyond a doubt that he did. In my mind's eye, I can see his very smug expression as he types the words and hits the return key. Even as he's paying me a compliment, he's teasing me. Still, I can't find it in me to be annoyed by it. Instead, heat blooms all over my skin as I reread his comment.

… _decided to let you know that you're beautiful._

I have no idea what to do with this.

His post is time-stamped six hours ago. Six hours ago, it was three in the morning. He thought of me at three in the morning? Maybe it was a drunk post. I know my face is red. Bright red. But I have experience with this. Granted, that experience usually happens in a dark bar behind a shield of alcohol, but it's becoming second nature to me now.

I click and type and hit enter before I chicken out.

 _Is this a "so call me maybe" moment? ;)_

I bite my lip against a smile.

Half an hour later, my phone vibrates with a text from Alice. It's nothing but a series of exclamation marks. I don't need her to elaborate to know that she's seen it.

I laugh when the phone rings. "Are you Facestalking me?" I ask in lieu of a plain hello.

"I just saw it!" she shrieks. "Bella! That was so sweet."

"I don't know about sweet." I roll my eyes. "Flirty, yes. Sincere…maybe."

"Sweet."

"Whatever you say." I chuckle at her exuberance.

For the next few hours, I force myself not to check Facebook obsessively. Even though my leg bounces up and down under the table, I get through my lunch meeting and end up signing the client. If the first half of this day is any indication of what will happen this afternoon, it'll be a very, _very_ good day.

* * *

When I finally allow myself to open Facebook again, there's one alert. I click on it without hesitation this time.

 _More of a "date you maybe."_

My body buzzes with nerves and adrenaline and anticipation. Because what next? How does this play out? Do I answer him? Do I wait until I see him in person? That thought makes me jittery. I won't see him for a few days, at least. But…I don't think I can leave this hanging. I don't want to be a coward, and I certainly don't want him to think I'm not open to…well, whatever he's suggesting here. I'm pretty sure I am. If the rumors about him didn't fly so freely, that would be amended to _definitely_. Then again, I shouldn't judge him by his past or the anecdotes people love to tell. Either way, I know for certain that I _want_ him. In a manner of speaking.

 _Maybe._ I delete the word as soon as I type it.

 _If you play your cards right._ I backspace right over that, too.

 _Ball's in your court._

I leave it at that.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know this chapter is really short, but it was the best place to break it off. I'll be posting another one later this evening. Thanks for reading! **  
**


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen is no rogue. Cullen is a scared little boy who gives himself easy outs. Right after our Facebook exchange, he had to go out of town. A wedding, I think, followed by a visit with his family in Chicago.

It's no mere coincidence. His trip was not a last-minute one. He talked a few weeks ago about going to see his family. Part of me is mad, but a smaller part of me gets it. Because all those times I thought I had him figured out? I'm pretty sure I was right.

Behind the teasing is an insecure man-boy who's afraid to show his hand. And now I know exactly what I'm dealing with.

* * *

"So Cullen, huh?" Mikey Newton asks after practice one night, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

"Huh?"

"I saw that thing on Facebook."

 _Oh, great,_ I think. It hadn't even occurred to me that other people could see our exchange. I sigh as Mikey squints his eyes and purses his lips for a second, then seems to come to some sort of decision.

"I don't like it."

I shrug out of his hug after squeezing him lightly. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, he's just playing around. It's what he does. You know."

Mikey nods wryly and adds his beer can to the expanding group of empties on the table. "I do know. I'll see you 'round, Swan."

"See ya." I'm glad to be rid of him when he whistles his carefree way out the door. It's not that I don't like him. It's just that he's one of those people who give Cullen a hard time when he doesn't necessarily warrant it.

It has to be said, though, that he _has_ known Cullen a lot longer than I have. I keep waffling. I like to think we have this sort of special…bond or something. But how do I know he's not just putting on whatever persona he wants me to see when I'm around? What's his _true_ persona? Is he the real Cullen when we're talking? Flirting? Is that the way he flirts with everyone, or is that just for me? While I'd like to believe the latter, I'd be willing to bet it's not true. I've seen him talk with other girls. It's not that much different from how he is with me. Except no matter how hard I tell myself or how much I try to rationalize, I feel like we have a connection.

I'm being totally ridiculous. Thinking in circles. I simultaneously want to wash my hands of him and call him to demand an answer. I'm acting like a pathetic mess over a guy, and I don't like it. Not one bit.

Scrolling through Facebook on my phone, I bypass pictures of friends' babies, stupid eCards, and passive-aggressive notes, but one thing gives me immediate pause. My thumb stops the fast scroll on the screen so I can drink in the sight.

He's in a tuxedo. Edward fucking Cullen is in a fucking tux. I want to take a screenshot of this picture. I want to save it and print it out and hang it over my bed. I want to lick his jaw.

I haven't seen the guy in two weeks, and _this_ is the first glimpse I get of him? _Damn._ I'm toast. I'll never be able to sleep with that image floating through my head.

* * *

"I haven't seen him in like a month, Alice," I whine over a Bloody Mary at Sunday brunch. It's gotten pretty ridiculous. Three weeks without seeing Cullen in person, and I'm in this loserly state of mourning. What the hell happened to me? Scratch that. I know what happened to me. He left me dangling on a hook and covered his own ass in case of rejection. I get it. He doesn't have a job right now. He's got all the time in the world. He was spending time with his family. But I have no idea where I stand.

"Sucks," says Alice. "But it hasn't exactly been a month."

"Fine," I pout. "Half a month."

"Barely. Why don't you text him?"

I balk at the idea. "I can't! I don't know if that's…kosher."

Alice nearly chokes on the lime she's sucking on. " _Kosher?_ " She tosses the lime onto her bread plate and takes another gulp of her Bloody Mary. "What does that even mean?"

I shrug, sipping through my straw and coming up with nothing but an icy clink and an obnoxious slurping noise. "I think there's a hole in my glass."

Alice snorts. "Don't avoid the question."

"I don't know what it means. I'm just not sure I feel comfortable texting him out of the blue."

"Why the hell not? How is it any different from you texting, say, Emmett? Or Mike?"

"You know why it's different, Alice. Don't play dumb."

"Look, I know you're sexually frustrated, but don't take it out on me." Our waiter chooses that moment to appear, and I blush at what he must be thinking after overhearing that. "I think she could use another," Alice tells him, pointing at my empty glass.

He smirks at me and winks, then nods and jettisons off to the bar.

"I think he likes you."

I choose to ignore her comment, given the present topic of conversation. "I'm not sexually frustrated," I grumble.

"You _are_ sexually frustrated. You're moody. You're on your third Bloody Mary. You're miserable because you haven't seen a guy over the last two weeks who—"

"Two and a half."

She grins and sits back with her arms crossed. "I rest my case."

I slump over and rest my forehead on the table briefly before the waiter comes back with my drink. "Thanks," I mumble, though I muster up a friendly smile for his effort.

"Just text him."

"If he wanted to see me as much as I want to see him, don't you think he would've contacted _me_ by now?" My logic is suddenly illogical.

"Ha!" She hits the table with her palm, jingling our silverware and drawing the attention of a few of our fellow diners nearby. "If you think that about him, maybe he thinks the same thing about you."

She has a point.


	6. Chapter 6

At our next practice, I hope like hell that he shows. It's almost been a month, and I'm in dire need of a fix. Yeah, it's occurred to me that it's pretty pathetic that our idle flirtation is the thing I currently live for, but I don't care. I like it. I like feeling for a few moments like I'm appealing to someone like him. Thirty minutes in, he's not there, and my hopes are pretty much dashed. But then there he is…stalking onto the pitch with his cleats in one hand and a water bottle in the other.

Hot damn. There might as well be slow motion action and a sexy song playing in the background.

Everyone pokes fun at him for being late. I find myself thinking that it's my turn to play aloof now, but he beats me to it. He doesn't meet my gaze. At least I don't think he does. Sunglasses conceal his beautiful eyes, so I can't be sure. He doesn't really acknowledge me. Granted, I don't acknowledge him either…

And I'm back to circular thinking again.

It's not like either of us is purposely avoiding the other—at least _I'm_ not—but there's just no interaction there. It's both odd and normal somehow. There are some weeks where we don't talk at practice, just at afters. But I sort of want to go to him and throw my arms around his waist in a friendly hug and tell him how much I missed him. Even just as a friend.

I don't. That would be weird.

I think.

Practice doesn't last all that long since there aren't that many of us. Honestly, I'm dying to get to the bar and see whether we pick up where we left off before this strange hiatus.

It doesn't take long. We're sitting at a high-top table with McCarty between us, me practically squished against the wall on my left, until Emmett has had a couple of beers and decides he's too lazy to sit upright without the wall's support. I act like I'm not more than happy to switch seats with him.

"Just punch his arm and tell him to fuck off," Cullen says.

He's been so quiet tonight that it's almost a shock to hear his velvety voice. It's the first time he's addressed me directly all evening, and it sends a thrill through me, whether I like it or not. "Well, well, peanut gallery," I say to divert his attention from my flushed face. "It's nice of you to grace us with your presence."

"Burn." Whitlock laughs across the table. Alice snorts and elbows him in the side.

"What?" Cullen asks haughtily. "I've been busy."

"Yeah, yeah," says McCarty. "Who were you busy with this week? Or should I say _gettin'_ busy with?"

Ouch. Those words pierce my heart. I don't want to imagine him "getting busy" with anyone. Cullen just raises an eyebrow, refusing to answer, and McCarty turns his attention to the pile of hot wings in front of him.

I finish my beer and crack open another for courage. "So, how was your trip?" I ask coolly, confident that everyone else has gone back to their own conversations.

"Good," he says, stealing a french fry from my basket. "Great, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Got to spend time with family and see old friends."

"What kind of friends, Casanova?" I ask, pretending that I don't care.

"Don't do that," he says seriously, firmly, and levels me with his gaze.

I bite my bottom lip, wondering when we're going to address this thing. Again, he beats me to it.

"Sorry we haven't talked. After the whole thing on Facebook."

I shrug and try to brush it off like it doesn't matter, but my words don't quite convey that attitude. "I was kind of angry," I admit. "And kind of sad."

He winces. "That's the last thing I want."

"You just went from telling me…I mean writing what you did to radio silence."

"I'm sorry." He doesn't say anything else for a few moments, so neither do I. "I didn't…I mean I wanted to talk to you, Swan. But I really did get busy with my family and job searching, and then I just…didn't know how to—"

"It's fine," I interrupt. He feels awkward, I realize. I don't want him to feel that way. "Just…don't string me along, okay?"

Cullen nods. Our semi-uncomfortable conversation is interrupted when McCarty throws an arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek.

"I'm out, fair Bella. Wifey is calling." If I'm not mistaken, I think I catch him throw a warning look Cullen's way. "Welcome back, man. See you kids this weekend."

"Wait! I'll walk out with you." I glance quickly at Cullen, who looks a little confused. "I've got an early meeting."

He just nods. I start to think he's doing the whole aloof thing again, but as I walk away, he grabs my arm and pulls me into his side for a hug. In his seated position, we're the same height. I press my warm cheek against his briefly.

"Talk later?"

I nod and pull away to follow McCarty outside.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I was going to post two chapters today since I didn't get to do one yesterday. However, the next two actually consists of one scene broken up into two chapters, and the first one has the tiniest bit of a cliffie. So what's the general consensus? Two today or two tomorrow? :)


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen's extra flirty at our next practice. We're on opposite scrimmage teams. He grins at me from his spot in the goal, and I grin right back as we talk trash. But when we arrive separately at the bar, we're back to awkward. I've never been good at this part, pre-social lubrication. I eye him and quickly look away before he can catch me. When I feel his eyes on me, I turn mine to him only to find that he's engrossed in conversation with Mikey and Whitlock.

This thing is too complicated.

I spend the first part of the night talking to Jessica, but she leaves after a while, so I glance down at my phone to text Alice, who opted out tonight. When I look up again, Cullen is situating himself on the barstool next to me.

"Are you texting about me?" he asks, smirking like it's a joke, but Jesus. I was.

"Nah." I sincerely hope I'm not blushing and giving myself away. "Just asking Alice if she wants to come out."

"What, we're not enough for you here?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

"I'm kidding."

"You kid a lot."

"You know this, Swan."

He's right. I do. But will he ever be even the tiniest bit serious about this thing he's started between us? I need a minute, so I excuse myself to the restroom. When I come back, he corners me against a far wall, away from our group. His long, strong arms cage me in as he leans forward with his hands on the wall.

"When are we going to stop this dancing around each other?" he asks.

I'm completely taken aback. "What are you talking about? I'm not dancing around anyone."

"I like you. You like me. Everyone knows it."

I fist my hands in the hem of my t-shirt. Though I've wanted to have this talk for some time now, it's suddenly making me very nervous. "I…"

His smirk widens as he drops his head close to mine. "Bella…"

I almost swoon when I hear my first name drop from his lips. The rest of the world calls me Bella, but hearing it from him feels intimate somehow. And for the five hundredth time since we met, I _want_ him.

But not like this.

I close my eyes and bring a hand up to rest against his chest. If I look at him, I won't be able to stop this. "I don't want you to kiss me in a dark corner of a bar."

His laugh is just one short puff. "We can go outside."

I laugh, too, and shake my head. "I want this to be…real."

"It's real." He tips his head farther forward, and I feel his lips brush my neck faintly, just under my jaw. With the tingle of his touch there and his hands pressed against the wall on either side of me, I almost cave and let him kiss me. "Salty," he says against my ear. "Sweat."

Heat blooms over my skin, and I'm half turned on, half embarrassed. "Cullen…"

He chuckles and stands back up to his full height. I peek around him to make sure none of our teammates have seen.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asks, drawing my eyes back up to his. He's backed away, and while we weren't exactly touching aside from my hand on his chest and his lips on my neck, I miss him.

"Um."

"I don't care if they see."

"I—"

His brow furrows. "Do you care?"

"I mean…not exactly…"

"Swan."

I gulp and tamp down the feeling that bubbles up in me at hearing him speak my name again. "It's just…they might've teased me a little."

"Who's teasing you?" He looks mad at first, but then his features relax. "That's my job."

I roll my eyes. "You know, it's kind of impossible to get anywhere with you."

An inscrutable grin takes over his face, and all seriousness has flown out the proverbial window. "What." It's a statement, not a question, like he knows but is still goading me. This is his thing. I mean it's _our_ thing, but tonight I'm not into it. Not after the somewhat heavy moment we just shared.

"Know what? I can't do this tonight. I'll talk to you later." I push past him and go to our table to grab my keys. He calls after me, but I ignore him.

"Where ya goin', Swan?" asks McCarty.

"Early day tomorrow," I lie, downing the rest of my beer and slamming the can on the table.

He pulls me into his side and leans in to whisper, under the guise of kissing the top of my head, "He giving you a hard time?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

McCarty chuckles and releases me with a final squeeze. "Handle away, then."

I stalk out of the bar without looking back, without saying goodbye to anyone else.

* * *

 **A/N:** The consensus was that I post two chapters today since this one's a little bit of a cliffy. Part two is coming in just a little while. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

I'm not even two blocks down the sidewalk when I hear his voice calling out for me, faint in the distance. "Swan!" Feet pound the pavement, and I grow annoyed at the image in my head of Cullen's long running stride.

 _Ignore him,_ I think. It's futile. Though I know he can have a bit of a temper himself and probably wouldn't take my tantrum on a normal day, he won't go away. Not when he's got something to prove.

"Swan!" He's close enough now that I can hear him panting as he slows further. "Bella."

 _Bella._ The wind goes out of me, leaving my shoulders sagging. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk but don't turn around. His hand on my shoulder leaves me warm and tingly, and _damn it._ I know I'm being a brat. But sometimes I just don't want to have to work so hard.

"I'm sorry," he says from behind me.

I'm thankful that I can't see his face. I know myself. I know I'd just give in. "For what?"

He sighs. "For not knowing what the hell I'm doing."

I finally turn, and he doesn't look at all how I thought he would. He looks dejected and unsure.

I _am_ a brat.

"I don't, Bella. I don't know what I'm doing. I've never known anybody like you."

"I'm nothing special."

"I don't mean… I mean I've met girls like you, but it's never been…" His expression changes, like he just realized what I said. "You _are_ special." He reaches a hand up to touch my face, but it lingers in midair, like he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch me.

"What, I'm not some brainless, pretty face who falls for your flirting and teasing every time?"

"Well, if that's how you want to put it, then yes." His voice is harsher now. "That's exactly what I mean."

It gives me pause, his frankness and ability to admit it. I can't even be mad at him. He's right. He's trying. It's not fair of me to expect him to change. It's not like he owes me something. We haven't made any promises. We've never been anything but casual friends until now.

"You don't realize what you do to me."

I cross my arms and stand my ground. "No, I guess I don't."

His shoulders slump as he sighs, and if I'm not mistaken, he almost looks…hurt. It's surprising, to say the least. I uncross my arms, aware that my body language probably looks more hostile than I intended it to.

"You don't tell me. You don't talk to me."

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "We talk all the time."

"I mean we don't have serious conversation. You just…flirt."

"Swan, trust me. Everything I say to you is completely real."

"How am I supposed to know that, though? You've never been serious. I wasn't even sure how to take your Facebook comment. Edward—"

"I like it when you call me that."

My face heats up, and the flush tingles its way down my chest.

He takes a hesitating step forward. "I like it when you blush like that."

 _Damn_. So he does notice.

Another step closer, and he's crossing into my comfort zone.

"I like it when you ask me things nobody else thinks to ask, and then you really listen."

Two more careful steps, and he's right in front of me. I can feel the buzz between us where our skin is almost touching.

"I like it when you don't pull away when our arms or knees touch when we're sitting side by side." He grins. "And I love it when you challenge me. When you don't put up with my bullshit."

I swallow. I'm glassy-eyed and mesmerized, but one word sticks out like a sore thumb. "Is that what I am?" I whisper. "A challenge?"

His eyes drop closed. "That's not what I meant." He opens them again and finally touches me, running a thumb across my cheek and down my jawline. "It's been a long time since someone's bothered to see through me. It…means something to me."

That's it. That's all I've wanted all these months. For him to open up just enough for me to see that I'm not just a passing fancy. Those words do it for me. "Edward, I—"

"You know this goes both ways, right?" he asks suddenly, a hand on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing over the bare skin there. "You haven't exactly given me any clear signals, either."

The words are gentle, not accusatory in the least, but they're sort of a slap across the face, a realization that hits me hard. I'm a hypocrite. All this time I've been worried about whether his attraction to me is serious…but is it possible I've confused him as much as he has me?

"I'm…" My voice is raspy.

"Bella?"

I repeat the words that just made me so warm and tingly. "I like it when you call me that."

His soft smile is back, telling me that he understands.

"I like it when you wrap your arm around me and pull me against your side. I like it when you touch me in _any_ way." His fingers trail from my shoulder to my elbow before his arm creeps around my waist, pulling me forward so I'm standing between his feet. "When you weren't around…" I pause, closing my eyes and trailing my fingertips up his arm. He shivers under my touch, and my heart soars at the thought that I have that effect on him. "I missed that."

Edward breathes out audibly as his other hand goes behind my neck to cradle my head, urging me to follow his lead. "Open your eyes, Bella," he murmurs. When I do, his gaze is soft, reverent. "No dark corners. No bars. No one watching or judging. Tell me what you want. Tell me what I'm about to do is okay." He leans in, and the air crackles around us. "Because if you don't, I won't. I'll walk you home, and we'll be friends. But please— _please_ …"

He doesn't continue his request, and I'm confident that he's never had to ask. "Do it," I whisper. He doesn't need any more convincing. His lips find mine easily, and then we're kissing. He's good. He's _so_ good at this. I didn't expect anything less. The thought makes me feel guilty, because I know I have to stop that. I have to stop worrying about his past and his reputation and trust him if this is going to be…anything. My thoughts crumble and float away in the gentle night breeze when the soft brushing of lips becomes a tugging. Both of his hands cradle my head. His thumbs caress the skin high on my cheekbones, leaving a different type of heat in their wake.

"Bella," he says against my mouth, barely audible. Now that he knows how I love it when he uses my first name, I hope he won't stop. "I wanted to kiss you before I knew you. Now that I do, and I know how beautiful you are inside and out, I'm glad I didn't."

He never ceases to surprise me. Just a few months ago, I thought I had him pegged. I didn't think I'd ever hear him utter words like those. If I had, I wouldn't have thought them genuine. Now, though…

"I think you show me what other people don't see."

"I try to." With his soft kiss, he cuts off any response I might've had.

And I'm perfectly fine with that.


	9. Chapter 9

Cullen walks the last couple of blocks with me to my house. I'm afraid to let him leave. I'm afraid this will be another one-step-forward, two-steps-back kind of thing. But there's no way I'm inviting him in tonight. We might have overcome a big hurdle, but I'm not ready for more. Not yet. Anyway, I feel salty with dried sweat and bloated from beer and wings. I'm slightly nervous things will turn awkward now, but he doesn't let that happen. He leans back against a post on the front porch and pulls me to stand between his legs.

I bite the inside of my cheek nervously and have a hard time meeting his intense gaze.

"Bella." Cullen tilts my chin up so my eyes meet his. My heart throbs at the sound of my name and the feel of his fingertips on my skin. "It's real," he says, repeating his words from not even thirty minutes ago.

"Okay," I breathe.

He presses his hand against my lower back and leans down to kiss me, just a couple of soft, slow tugs at my lips. "You want to do something this weekend? Just the two of us?"

I've never spent time with him alone. The prospect is both nerve-wracking and wildly appealing. "I'd like that," I say.

He smiles softly and slides his hand from my back around to my hip, making me feel swoony all over again. "Good. I'll text you, okay? Saturday?"

"Yeah," I agree, stepping back and fumbling for my key. "Saturday's good." Inside, I'm thinking. _Friday, please. More, please._ But I can be patient. I think.

* * *

I can hardly sleep Friday night, wondering when he'll be in touch tomorrow, what he'll say. He's not typical. _We're_ not typical. I highly doubt we'll be doing the whole dinner and a movie thing. I bet we'll do something outdoors. Maybe we'll go to the beach or a baseball game or something. To be honest, I don't care what we do.

I don't have to tell him that, because when I wake up to his text Saturday morning, it seems like he's got it all figured out.

 _Hope you're hungry_ , it says.

I grin and stretch, luxuriating for a minute in the sun and the fact that his words are currently displayed on my phone's screen. I pick it up again and type my response.

 _Just woke up. Should I skip breakfast?_

He doesn't respond right away, so I spend a few minutes checking emails and Facebook before I get up and go to the bathroom. When I come out, Alice is puttering around the kitchen, making coffee and scrambling eggs. She's a morning person. I feel incredibly lazy and gross next to her.

"Morning, sunshine," she says. "Eggs?"

"No thanks." I fill the electric kettle with water and flip it on to make my own coffee. We're both coffee snobs and complete addicts. One French press isn't enough for both of us. Hers is fancy with its shiny stainless steel trim. Mine's a basic plastic and glass model. They sit side by side on the counter, somewhat indicative of our differences. Alice likes things polished and neat. And while she swears I'm not a "basic bitch," I secretly suspect I am.

"Did you hear from Cullen yet?" she asks, tilting her eggs into a bowl and sprinkling them with Sriracha.

"Yeah." I try to hide my grin, staring at my French press like it'll make time go faster. "He said he hopes I'm hungry."

"Ooh." Alice sits down at the table and tucks into her eggs. She might be small in stature, but her appetite's huge. "Maybe he's taking you somewhere really nice."

I shrug. "I'm not sure he's the type to wine and dine." My phone chimes, and a thrill goes through me.

"Food truck rodeo," Alice says.

I turn around to find her peeking at my phone, which I left on the kitchen table. "Alice!"

"What?" she says with her mouth full of egg.

"I kind of wanted to read it for myself." Another text comes through just as I'm grabbing my phone off the table.

 _Pick you up at eleven?_

I glance at the time. Ten-fifteen. It's doable. I send back an _okay_ and a smiley face.

* * *

"Oh, my god," I moan after swallowing a bite of my Asian fusion bánh mì sandwich. "You have to try this."

Cullen shoots me a crooked smile and swipes his thumb across my chin, coming away with a dab of kimchi sauce and licking it away. _Hot damn._ I gulp as he hums his approval.

"Delicious," he says in a low voice.

"Good lord, Cullen."

"What." He says it in that way of his that makes it a non-question.

"You know what." I bump my shoulder against his arm and reach for my bottle of water. "You do that shit on purpose."

He shrugs, grins, and bites into his cuban pork sandwich. Lying back on the blanket that we spread out over the grass, I watch his profile as he chews. Normally, I worry about being caught staring at him. But today, it's perfectly acceptable. We're on a…date. I'm on a _date_ with Cullen. In my mind, that makes it okay to ogle him in public. His jaw. Damn. If I reached up and traced it with my fingers, I might cut myself. And his cheekbones. Lordy. The movement in his throat when he takes a big drink of water. Mm-mmm.

Cullen wipes his mouth—which just makes me want to kiss him—and crumples his napkin in his fist, then reclines on the blanket next to me. I shift to my side, and he turns his face toward mine.

"I think I'm gonna burst."

I laugh, though my stomach feels pretty bulgey, too. "No kidding. You ate that whole sandwich, plus that mac and cheese, the Greek potatoes, and those two street tacos."

"I ran five miles this morning," he reasons. "Anyway, you're one to talk."

"I had tiny portions of everything. I planned it that way so I could try more."

He purses his lips, a sign that he's searching for something sarcastic to say. Before he can get it out, I prop myself on my elbow and lean over him, pressing my lips to his. He's obviously surprised, because he doesn't react at first. It's the first time we've kissed since he dropped me off at my front door Thursday night. He finally kisses me back and makes a sexy sound in his throat, bringing his hand to the back of my neck to hold me there. It's a relief. And it feels so good to be kissing him like this in the light of day, right in the middle of this park. It makes it feel real, like I wanted before.

"You taste good," he murmurs against my mouth.

I laugh self-consciously and pull away, both embarrassed and turned on just like a couple of nights ago, but he follows me.

"I wasn't finished with you."

Propping myself up on my elbows, I look pointedly around the park. Children are running around or rolling around in the grass or sitting on blankets with their parents. Groups of teenaged girls giggle at boys on skateboards. And then there are other couples like us, couples of all ages, lolling on the ground, perched on benches, meandering from food truck to food truck. _Couples._ Can I call us that? I mean, the word itself means two. A pair. So yeah, we're a couple. Two people. A pair…an unmatched pair. But in the other sense of the word, we're not. Not _together_ together.

"Where'd you go?" Cullen sits up again and turns to face me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You sort of checked out. And your forehead is all wrinkled. What's up?"

"I was just observing." It's not a lie, because I was.

Cullen downs the rest of his water and stares at me for a long moment. "Look," he says finally. "You know how you say you know me better than other people do?"

I just nod, but I turn my full attention to him. Serious talk's obviously not all that common with him, so I drink it up while I can.

"I feel the same way about you. You know, I…" There's a tinge of pink on his face, and I'm not sure if it's because we've been out in the sun all afternoon or because of me. I hope it's the latter. "I watch you a lot," he finally continues. "At practice. At the bar. I can kind of read your looks by now. And I'm pretty confident you were thinking about…us."

"Us?" I squeak, melting under his gaze and his words.

His boldness falters for a moment. "In a manner of speaking. I mean…us as in…we're two people. So the two of us. Here."

 _My_ boldness grows, because oh my god. He does know. I laugh and sit up, resting my cheek on my bent knees and looking up at his suddenly unsure expression. Here we are, two thirty-somethings on, for all intents and purposes, a first date, and it's just like it probably would've been ten years ago. What is it about him that turns me so juvenile?

"I know what you mean," I tell him, willing myself internally to grow the fuck up for just a minute. "Let's…play it by ear."

A relieved grin stretches across his face. I know instantly that it's not relief at being let off the hook for now, but at the knowledge that we're finally—in some way—on the same page.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry that took a few days. Hubs and I are aaaaalmost finished remodeling the house we bought last September (which I thought would take, like A FEW MONTHS), so things have been really busy. But we're finally starting to move in this weekend! Yay! Thanks for all the new faves and follows and reviews. And super special thanks to Rachelfish, who's my lobster forever and always.


	10. Chapter 10

Confession time. I'm not that great at soccer. I'm not _bad_ , but I'm not great either. In fact, before I joined our rec league, the last time I'd played was eighth grade. I try hard, though, and I've improved a lot over the few months I've been playing with our team.

So imagine my utter delight and gratitude when Jessica brings her superstar cousin to practice. Lauren played in college, which included a year in England. She's twenty-two— _God,_ I was ten years old when she was born—and blonde and blue-eyed and tan and a fucking ace at soccer. Except she calls it football, as though that one year in England made her English. She's all smiles and giggles for the boys, but she barely says two words to me for the whole two hours. Even though she's on my scrimmage team, I can't help rolling my eyes every time she scores a goal. Can't help grinding my teeth when she talks trash to Cullen, who's playing keeper as always. I cheer silently when he stops her attempt at a goal, but my grin turns to a scowl when she compliments him.

"Nice save, Cully," she says, flashing him a ridiculously dazzling smile.

" _Cully?_ " I repeat with a snort. Lauren doesn't acknowledge my little outburst, even though I know it was loud enough for her to hear.

Cullen grins at her before his eyes flick over to me. I swallow hard when he winks at me, and I suddenly feel very…possessive. It's just too she's on my team.

Otherwise, I'd be all over her ass.

* * *

My plan was to go straight home after practice. I have to catch a flight at six in the morning, a thought that makes me want to vomit. Wait. Maybe if I think about it hard enough, I _will_ vomit. I can spew in the general direction of Lauren's face, and she'll have to go home, and I'll be all, "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry."

Nah. I would never.

Apologize, that is.

Anyway, my plans changed the moment I saw Little Miss Football 2015 turn her eyes toward my—toward Cullen. Now I'm _definitely_ going to the bar. Just long enough to make a point.

Something tickles the back of my arm as I'm putting my gear in the trunk of my car.

"Swan," a very welcome voice says into my ear. Cullen's fingers reach my wrist and tug so I'll turn to face him. God, he's gorgeous. He smiles softly at me and glances around before taking a step closer. It's only been a couple of weeks since our first kiss. Our first date. We've been out a few times since then, and while we haven't exactly _hidden_ it from anyone, we haven't made things public yet either. He twines his fingers with mine and squeezes my hand. "You still going straight home?"

I bite my lip to discourage myself from launching at him and kissing the hell out of him right here in front of God and everybody. And Lauren. Especially Lauren. He just looks so damn _good._ All sweaty and red-cheeked and hot in every sense of the word.

"Actually," I say oh-so-casually, "I thought I'd drop by for just one. It'd be rude not to go with Jessica's cousin here."

He lifts an eyebrow and does that lip-pursing thing he does when he's about to be sarcastic, but I cut him off.

"Wouldn't want her thinking we're not, you know, hospitable and shit."

"Oh, sure." Cullen chuckles and releases me. "I'm glad you're going, though."

My demeanor thaws slightly. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'll have an excuse to walk you home and give you a proper goodbye."

If he's _trying_ to make me tackle him right here and now, he's on the right path. "Oh," I say. "Good. I like proper goodbyes."

He laughs again. "I'll see you in a few."

I duck down into my car, casting a glare in Lauren's direction to find her eyeing Cullen's retreating backside. _Oh, hell no_ , I tell her telepathically.

* * *

"I wouldn't have a problem with this bitch if she didn't keep casting googly eyes at Cullen," I mutter to Alice, whom I called as soon as I drove away from the field.

"B, I've never seen you so catty!" she says, clapping her hands together. "I love it. You really like him, don't you?"

"That's it," I mutter as I watch Lauren put her hand on Cullen's chest again. I hop down off my stool, and Alice giggles and grabs my arm.

"Chill," she says. "Just watch. Trust."

I do. I watch him laugh at whatever she's saying. Jealousy starts to flare inside me, but then he takes a casual step back so that her hand falls away. He says something then and nods in my direction. Lauren's eyes follow his lead and find me staring—possibly glaring—at her. She gives me a wave and a half-smile and then says something to Cullen before he turns to walk my way. I try like hell not to let him know that I was watching, but there's really no way to do it. Looking away quickly would just be a dead giveaway. So I hold his gaze as he makes his way over.

"What's up?" he asks. "You about ready?"

I nod. "Are you sure you don't want to stay?"

"I'll probably come back later," he says with a shrug.

A small part of me doesn't want to hear that, but the rest of me is really happy that he told me. I'd love it if he didn't come back. I'd love it if he stayed with me. All night. But we're just not ready for that. I'm just feeling insecure about leaving. I won't see him for a week. I could kick my past self for agreeing to go on this stupid family reunion cruise thing. Yeah, I'm looking forward to the sun and the sand and the clear blue water, but I'd much rather share them with Cullen. The thought of being half naked with him in the water is almost too much to bare when he's pressing his hand against my back to guide me through the crowd and out the door. I make a mental note to plan a beach date when I get back. How have we never been to the beach together?

* * *

"Will you miss me?" Cullen asks. My lips feel as puffy and red as his look. If that look is only half as good on me as it is on him, I'm doing well. I try to pull his face back down to mine, but he presses me harder into the column of my front porch, smiling lazily as he repeats his question.

"Yeah," I murmur. "Will you miss me?"

He shrugs. "It's just a week."

My heart plummets, and I hit my head on the column when I pull away quickly. "Ow!"

"Shit, Bella, are you okay?" His hand cradles the back of my head gently. "I'm sorry. I was only joking."

"Of course you were," I mutter.

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing."

"No," he says, his eyebrows pulling together. "Not nothing. What?"

"It's just…sometimes it's hard to know."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's habit." Cullen runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "For what it's worth, I _will_ miss you."

And I'm a puddle of goo again. "You will?"

"Yeah," he whispers before putting his lips to mine. I know he's serious now by the way he's kissing me. It's soft and hard and slow and urgent all at the same time, and I hope he's strong enough to give the right answer, because I'm not strong enough not to ask the question.

"Want to come in?" I whisper against his mouth.

He groans, but his answer is instantaneous. "Uh-uh."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. "If I go inside with you right now, you know what's going to happen. And when that happens, I'm taking my time. You have to be up in a few hours, and I'm not going to be the one who makes you late for your flight."

It doesn't escape my notice that he said _when_ and not _if_.

* * *

 **A/N:** A zillion apologizes for the huge gap in updates. Moving, unpacking, living in limbo while waiting for the kitchen counters and sink to be installed (among other things), repainting and repairing the old house to get it ready to put on the market, doing my actual freelance work...all of this took up every bit of my time. We did everything on our own, with the exception of hiring someone to do the sheetrock. So I'm proud of us. It's rewarding to live in a place that we made our own, not a cookie cutter in the suburbs like our last house! I won't abandon this story, and I don't foresee anything that will keep me from updating for that long again. Thanks for your patience and understanding (IF you were patient and understanding...some weren't...), and thanks to everyone who congratulated us on *finally* moving into the new house. Much love!


	11. Chapter 11

The Charleston airport is tiny. It's pretty convenient when you're late for your flight or you just really, _really_ want to pick up your bags and get home. While I do love my family, an entire week in a somewhat confined space with the entire _extended_ family is a bit much. I'm so ready to climb into my nice, comfy bed in my own room for some uninterrupted sleep. That wasn't easy to come by this past week since I had the pleasure of sharing a cabin with three of my cousins, two of whom snore so loudly you could hear them out in the hall.

It doesn't take me long to reach baggage claim, and it takes me even less time to scan the area for Alice. I'm not surprised she's not here yet. My flight got in ten minutes early, and she's usually running about fifteen minutes behind. What _does_ surprise me, though—what shocks the actual hell out of me—is the sight of Edward Cullen leaning against a nearby wall, eyes focused on me.

Cullen and I don't usually talk every day, but a whole week without hearing from him at all was almost torturous. He's all I've thought about today, and now here he is.

God, he looks good standing there with his hands in his pockets, a baseball cap shading his gorgeous green eyes. My heart rate picks up as he pushes off the wall and walks toward me.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt. It's probably the stupidest thing I could say, but like I said…shock.

Cullen just grins and holds his hand out for my bag. I don't want him to carry my bag. I want him to carry _me_. Like…throw me over his shoulder and run me to his car so we can make out like teenagers in the backseat.

"Alice couldn't make it."

"I told her I'd just take an Uber if she couldn't—" I stop when his smile fades a bit, and I want to stuff every word I've said to him so far back into my stupid mouth. "Not that I'm not happy to see you!"

His hand is warm on my back through the thin cotton of my shirt as we dodge slow-moving tourists and harried businessmen in suits on our way out of the airport. A shiver goes through me at the touch I've craved for the last seven days. I know he feels it, because he glances down at me and then slides his arm all the way around my waist. This casual touch is new, and I love it. He keeps his light hold on me the whole way to the car, only letting go to toss my bag in the trunk. His hands are fast, though, turning me around by the hips. My back is against the passenger door as he stares down at me. I'm starting to feel a little awkward with the prolonged eye contact and zero talk. I know he's going to kiss me. I wonder if it'll be a soft, tentative one or a crash of lips and tongue. We've had both. I love both.

His lips barely touch mine at first, and my knees go weak. He takes his time. Something builds between us that's new and different. This kiss isn't just a physical thing. It isn't just a way to relieve the ever-present sexual tension or a way to tease each other as we so often do. It's gentle and affectionate, the exact opposite of anything I would ever have expected from him before I really knew him.

Eventually, he slides his lips to my ear and nips my earlobe, making me shiver again. "I did miss you." His voice is husky, breathless. "I missed you a lot."

* * *

There's no way I'm going to practice tonight. It's been a long week and a long day of travel, and it feels too good to stretch out on the couch in front of the TV. I invited Cullen in when he dropped me off a few hours ago, but he said he had some things to do. He was a little bit distant after that kiss in the parking garage. I can't blame him, really. It was heavy. He said he'd see me at afters, and I promised to show up.

When I get to the bar, Mikey and Whitlock are already sitting at a table with a round of cold beers. As I approach and crack one open, I hear the tail end of what sounds like some good gossip. These guys. They're worse than teenaged girls sometimes.

"He said he hooked up with Lauren," says Mikey, "but I don't think I believe it."

"Jessica's cousin?" I ask, suddenly both very interested and concerned.

"Oh!" says Whitlock, a little too innocently for my taste. "Hey, Swan. Welcome back."

"Yeah, her," Mikey answers.

"Who said—" I turn back to Whitlock to see him making a _cut it out_ gesture across his throat at Mikey, but he freezes, wide-eyed, when he sees me looking at him.

I feel lightheaded. "Surely you don't—" It sort of makes sense. We didn't talk all week, and he was so _different_ this afternoon, clingy almost, and then that weird distant act when he dropped me home.

"Hey there, ladies and ladyboys," McCarty's booming voice says over my head. He throws an arm around my neck as he reaches for a beer, which wouldn't normally bother me, but right now I already feel like I can't breathe. I struggle out from under his arm and head straight for the door. "You okay, Swan?" he shouts after me. I wave over my shoulder to let him know I'm fine, but really, I don't know if I'm fine. Part of me doesn't _want_ to know if I'm fine.

I push open the door and run smack into a hard chest, recoiling like I've been burned by the green eyes that regard me with a mix of amusement and concern. He grabs my elbow, but when I pull away, the amused part goes away completely.

"You look pale," Cullen says, putting on his best worried voice. "Are you feeling okay?"

I start to nod just to get rid of him but think better of it and shake my head no. If I use actual words right now, they won't be pretty. And I won't cry over this. I won't be sad. I'm just angry. So incredibly angry at myself more than him or Lauren.

I must not do a great job of hiding it, because he tugs on my arm and leads me away from the bar and around a corner. "What's the matter?" he asks. He sounds a little bit scared. It doesn't do much to inspire the confidence I thought he deserved.

I jerk my arm out of his grasp and look around to make sure no one's close by before I answer. "You told Mikey you hooked up with Lauren?" My voice sounds harsher than I intended. After all, I don't know that it happened for sure, and innocent until proven guilty and all that.

Edward's eyes grow wide, but it seems to be out of actual surprise at the accusation, not embarrassment at being caught. "I never—who said I hooked up with Lauren?"

"Mikey!" I shout. "He said you told him. He and Whitlock were talking inside and—"

"I never said anything like that to anyone!"

"Okay, so you didn't say it, but did you…?"

"Are you serious?" He looks…sad, I think. I wait for him to continue, expecting him to be indignant, but he doesn't say anything else.

"Did you?" I ask in a small voice, even though I'm already beginning to realize that I'm stupid for falling for another rumor without cause. My doubt in him shrinks and my anger at myself grows.

"Stay here," he says firmly. "Please." His amendment is softer. He looks at me with eyes that turn down at the corners and pierce my heart.

I can only nod as I look down at the ground and watch his feet as he stalks away. As I lean back against the brick wall and cross my arms over my chest, tears sting my eyes, and I'm really not sure why they're there. I've managed to blink them away and compose myself by the time he comes back.

"It was Jessica," he says roughly. "Jessica told Mikey that I said I hooked up with Lauren. I didn't. I swear, Bella. I thought you knew me better than that by now."

My chest feels tight. "I'm sorry," I say, feeling a few inches tall.

I look up at him for the first time, and to my surprise, he doesn't look angry with _me_ at all. "Have I ever lied to you?"

I shake my head.

"Have I ever given you any reason not to trust me?"

"Stop!" I shout. "I feel bad enough as it is. You don't have to push it. I'm _sorry_ I doubted you. I'm sorry I questioned you. I'm just so—" I growl in frustration and clench my fists. "Why would Jessica say something like that? Why does Mikey feel the need to tell everyone about it? And why do I continue to believe bullshit? I _know_ I shouldn't, and it makes me so angry that I do, and I just want people to stop it!" I pause to take a breath, tense and breathing hard.

"You about done?" Edward regards me with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes!" I shout again. "I'm done. By all means, take a turn."

He grins, all at once seductive and amused. "You're irresistible when you get mad."

"What?" I'm floored. He should be disappointed in me. He should be reading me the riot act.

"You heard me." He stalks forward and takes my face between his hands.

 _God_. There it is. The part of him other people don't get to see. The one where his voice is soft, not teasing, and his expression is affectionate, not seductive. The one that makes me melt. The one that tells me beyond a doubt once and for all that I _do_ know the real him.

Instead of defending himself or being disappointed like he should be, he plants a soft kiss right on my lips. "Jessica's been trying for ages to…" He trails off. "She's just jealous. And that's not my ego talking." His smile is gentle and cautious. "You know I'm not…that I don't… You do know those stories they tell are mostly bullshit, right?" He presses his lips together and furrows his brow. "Mostly."

"I figured as much. But I also—" I stop, but I find that the need I felt to guard myself around him is gone.

"What?"

"I hoped they weren't true. I felt like I knew you better than that."

"You do, Bella." No matter how many times he says it, hearing my name on his lips puts me up in the clouds. "You know me. Better than almost anyone."

He drops his mouth to mine, and we kiss until my head spins and I'm fisting his shirt in my hands like it'll keep me grounded.

"You want this?" he asks, and I'm not completely sure which _this_ he's asking me about, but yes. Yes, I want it all. "Me?"

"I want you," I tell him plainly, honestly, openly. Because I realize that if this is going to work, open is the only way we can be.

"In what capacity?"

"All of them."

He chuckles lowly and moves his hands to my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. "You know what I'm asking? I don't just mean sex."

My skin burns. "I know. And yes. I want it. You. Everything."

"So…are you…I mean…" He huffs, and the frustration I see in his features is tinged with embarrassment.

"Edward?" I give him an encouraging smile. "It's just me."

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"It's okay."

"I was just wondering if you were seeing anyone else," he says, rushing his words like he's afraid he'll chicken out.

The answer isn't complicated at all. I've been fascinated since I met him. I haven't _wanted_ to date anyone else. I'm not sure I should go quite that far with my explanation, so I settle for simple. "No."

"Oh. Good."

"Are you?"

He shakes his head.

"So…what, then?"

"I don't know. I just…" He trails off, rubbing a hand over his short, messy hair. He looks sort of bashful. "I don't want anyone else to have you."

My stomach drops to my feet. The way he phrases things sometimes catches me off guard. To some, it might not be the most romantic statement ever. To me, it's perfect. He _wants_ me. Just like I want him. My heart thuds in my chest as I close the distance between us and link my hands behind his neck. "I don't want anyone else to have me either."

"No?"

"Uh-uh."

"Oh," he says again. His arms go around my waist and pull me closer. "Good."

"Yeah."

"So…date me maybe?"

I laugh at the throwback to his Facebook message. "Haven't we been—"

"Exclusively."

This evening has taken a complete one-eighty, but instead of tempting fate and questioning it, I just nod and smile. "Yeah."

"Awesome," he mutters and ducks his head to kiss me.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks so much for all the sweet messages! I've been excited to post this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to Rachelfish for her endless encouragement and love.


	12. Chapter 12

"Let's go somewhere nice tonight," Cullen says when I pick up the phone on Saturday.

"Well, hello to you, too," I say with a laugh.

He chuckles. "Hi."

"Somewhere nice, huh?"

"I just want to be alone with you."

I melt. "Yeah…" My voice is pathetically breathy and the tiniest bit squeaky. "Yeah, I could use a break from the bar scene."

"So I'll pick you up then. Eight?"

I try my best to hold back the dreamy sigh that wants loose. "Perfect."

* * *

Alice gives a low whistle when I click-clack across the living room in my heels. "Look at you all dolled up."

"Edward says he's taking me somewhere nice tonight," I say, checking my lipstick in the little mirror by the front door.

"Ooh, he totally wants in your pants."

"Don't be ridiculous, Alice. I'm not wearing pants."

She cackles and stretches out on the couch. "Well, you have fun with that. I'll just be here dreaming about Jasper."

"Why don't you just ask him out?"

"That's a funny thing coming from you. Weren't you just pining away for Edward like a month ago?"

"It's been more than a month."

"Semantics."

It's true, though. This hypocrisy thing is becoming something of a habit for me. The doorbell breaks into my thoughts, and I'm suddenly the teensiest bit nervous. Edward and I haven't been on a date like this before. It's always been hanging out with a group at a bar, a lunch hour every now and then, some outdoor activity… But this is a real, live date. A grown-up date. I smooth down my favorite dress with the swishy skirt and open the door. And holy mother of hotness. There stands Cullen, leaning on his forearm against my doorframe. His blue button-down accentuates his perfect, perfect chest, and his sleeves are rolled up not quite to his elbows, showing off his tanned, slightly muscled arms. If I get through this evening without jumping his bones, I'll be doing all right.

"Wow," he says lowly. "You look…beautiful."

I'm already hot and bothered, and the night hasn't even started yet. "Thanks. You look pretty handsome yourself."

He chuckles. "You ready? Or should I come in and wait?"

I'd love to tell him to come in and _stay_ , but he said he wants to be alone with me, and having Alice here would put a serious damper on that.

"Hey, Cullen!" the roommate in question calls, sitting up on the couch. "You're looking snazzy tonight."

"Hey, why aren't you out with Whitlock?" he says in lieu of an actual greeting.

I give her a pointed look, as if to say, _See?_

"I don't know what you're talking about," she volleys. "Where are you two going for dinner?" I wish I could perfect the deadpan expression she's so good at. Her poker face is brilliant, but she's not fooling anybody here.

* * *

Cullen got reservations at Halls Chophouse, which makes me incredibly happy since I've never been here before. He gets the braised duck, and I get the shrimp and grits, and we split a bottle of wine. Everything's perfect. Even the conversation.

Wine makes my inhibitions give way much faster than the cheap beer we drink after practices. I consider it a good thing. It makes me forward, not in a sexual way, but in a way that lets me say exactly what I want without thinking twice.

"Tell me some things I don't know about the elusive Edward Cullen," I say when I'm so full I can't even think about another bite.

He narrows his eyes as he chews his food. "I'm not elusive."

"It's not exactly easy to get close to you."

"That doesn't make me elusive," he insists. "It makes me smart."

"Smart how? Like…if you don't let people in, they can't hurt you?"

"Since when is 'getting to know you' so deep?" he asks. I can't tell if he's serious or teasing. "What happened to stuff like 'what's your favorite movie?'"

"I already know you," I rebut. "And it's _Goodfellas_."

He laughs and sits back to take the last sip of his wine. "Touché. What else do you think you know about me?"

"Let's see…" I drain my wine glass as well and pretend to think hard. "You played football at USC, but you hurt your shoulder at the beginning of junior year."

"Easy one."

"Fine. Your favorite color is red. You have a dog named Dodger who lives with your parents in Chicago. You have a younger sister named Elizabeth, and she's getting married in a few months. You're a beer guy, but you enjoy a good glass of wine every now and then"—I point to the wine glass he's refilling—"which I just learned tonight. You don't like chicken except for wings, but only when they're good and crispy. You hate rain. You want to learn how to surf, but you're afraid of sharks. Should I go on?"

"Impressive. How long have you been stalking me again?"

I kick his foot under the table but laugh along with him.

"You forgot one of my likes, though."

"What's that?" I ask.

He leans closer and gives me his most charming lopsided grin. "You."

Even though it's kind of cheesy, the sentiment makes my heart thud a little faster. "You're also a sweet-talker."

Cullen scoots his plate to the side and reaches across the small table to take my hand. I never noticed how big his hands are in comparison to mine.

"True, but I'm serious. I like you, Bella. An awful lot."

I gulp. He called me Bella again. He _knows_ what that does to me. "I like you, too."

"I know I didn't make it clear for a long time, but I just wasn't sure if you…" He trails off. "And yeah, I hold my cards a little close to my chest." He looks down at our clasped hands and squeezes mine. "But I don't want to do that with you."

My face is bright pink, I know. My skin is hot. All of my skin. I swallow hard and clear my throat. "What _do_ you want to do with me?"

Cullen looks surprised at first, but then he chuckles and leans back in his chair again. "I guess we'll just have to wait and find out, won't we?"

Swan: 1

Cullen: 523

* * *

We follow dinner with drinks at the Belmont, then decide to go back to my place and watch a movie. Cullen's buzzed and touchy-feely, and I want him. Alice is probably home, which makes it about the safest place for us right now. I'm not saying I don't want to be alone with him— _completely_ alone, I mean—but I don't trust myself right now, and my head is too lust-filled to know for sure what I want.

Screw that.

I know exactly what I want. I've known it for months. But it's different now. It's not just a screw-him-out-of-my-system thing anymore. It's more for me, and if his demeanor tonight is a good indication, it's more for him, too. A guy who just wants to hit it and quit it doesn't wait months for a first kiss; doesn't ask your best friend if he can pick you up from the airport in her place; doesn't leave the bar just because you have to get up early and can't stay.

He holds my hand on the drive back to my place. It feels like something has shifted between dinner and now, but the air in the car is still completely comfortable—maybe even more so than before.

We luck out and find street parking less than a block from my house. I'm incredibly thankful; these aren't my most comfortable heels. Alice's bike is attached to the front porch railing, which means she's more than likely home. She doesn't walk anywhere by herself at night. But when we open the front door, the only light inside is from the street lights streaming through the windows.

Cullen checks his watch and smirks. "Does Alice go to bed this early?"

"Not typically." I go into the hall to check, but there's no light coming from under her bedroom door, either. It's just past midnight, not late enough that she'd be asleep yet on a weekend night. "Maybe she decided to go out after all." Great. I'm in so much trouble. Without her here as a buffer, there's a huge chance I'll be dragging him down this same hallway to my room before we can even start a movie.

The moment I resign myself to the fact that I've sorely overestimated my self-control is the same moment we hear a muffled, rhythmic squeaking coming from behind the door. Then a thump. Then more squeaking…

"That"—he pauses and cocks his head to the side—"definitely sounds like…bed noises."

A muffled, masculine moan drifts from the crack under the door, and Cullen's eyebrows creep up his forehead.

"Oh, crap!" I say quietly, backing out of the hall into the living room.

He snorts and follows me. "Is her bed always so loud?"

I smack his chest with the back of my hand. "Gross! _That_ , uh, doesn't happen very often."

"Oh, really? Interesting." He strokes his chin and purses his lips, and I know what's about to come. "And when was the last time _your_ headboard thumped the wall?"

I suddenly feel flushed, so I turn away to hide my face and go into the kitchen for a glass of water. "We're so not going there right now."

"Right now, huh? So does that mean it's not completely off the table?" He's teasing me again. I know he is. But that knowledge doesn't stop a thrill from running up my spine.

I gather my courage and retort with the first thing that comes to mind. "Were you expecting to be on a table tonight?"

For once, he appears to have nothing. A slow grin spreads across his face, and he opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out…

" _Jasper!_ "

The gaspy sound comes from the direction of Alice's bedroom. A fraction of a beat of silence, and realization dawns. My hand flies to my open mouth. Cullen looks equally as shocked. His head jerks back, and his eyes grow wide.

It's getting increasingly hard to hold in the giggles that are bubbling up, so I retrieve my bag, grab Cullen's arm, and literally run out the front door.

We make it to his car before I burst into laughter, leaning against the trunk for support.

"Whitlock?!" he blurts, eyes still wide, incredulous but appreciative smile on his face.

"How many other Jaspers do you know?"

"About time he got his shit together."

"Well, I'm happy for Alice." I tap my finger against my lips. "Is happy the right word?"

Edward chuckles and steps closer to me. "So what now?" He leans in with his hands against the trunk on either side of me.

My giggles fade completely as he moves in. "We could, uh, grab another drink?" It's not really what I want to do right now, but… "See if any of the guys are out?"

He comes even closer and shakes his head. "I'm in a selfish mood. Don't feel like sharing you."

A flutter makes its way through my stomach. "Your place?" I squeak.

He gives me a false modest look and shrugs. "If that's what you want."

I rise up onto my tiptoes and brush my lips against his. "Unless you have a better suggestion," I whisper.

He lifts me easily onto the trunk of the car and cages me in again, sucking my lower lip into his mouth in the sexiest way. As he kisses me, he moves his hands to either side of my head, thumbs brushing across the warm apples of my cheeks like I love. We kiss until I'm stupid. I'm good and breathless when his lips leave mine, and when I open my eyes slightly, I find him watching me through long lashes. I wonder if he's the type to close his eyes when he kisses or if he peeks. Either way, he's searching mine now with half-closed eyelids and dilated pupils.

I glance at his pink, swollen mouth, and all inhibition goes out the window. "What were you saying about your place?"

"Actually, _you_ said—"

I cut him off with another kiss, sliding off the car and down his body as I go. My nipples brush against his chest, and I thank the lingerie gods for thin, lacy bras. Pressed against him like this, I can feel the bulge through his jeans, against my bare leg where my dress has ridden up between us. The quietest gasp escapes me. At first, I doubt he even heard it, but then he takes my hand and quickly leads me to the passenger side of his car.

"Yeah," he says, giving me one last kiss, then nudging my hip so I'll duck into the car. "Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N:** USC = University of South Carolina. Just thought I'd clear that up since a lot of people probably assume California when they see USC. Thanks for reading and for the awesome comments, and as always, thanks to Rachelfish for her priceless input.


	13. Chapter 13

Cullen lives about fifteen minutes from me, just over the Cooper River. His house is in an older part of town where mid-century moderns sit close to a marsh. It's smallish and cute, surrounded by oak trees and crepe myrtles and manicured hedges. He leads me up the brick walkway with my hand in his. He's barely let go since we got into the car. I love it. I wonder if his skin prickles and burns the way mine does when he touches me, wherever he touches me.

We pause inside the front door, not long enough for things to become awkward, thankfully. I don't want this to feel stilted or halting.

"Do you want anything?" he asks. "Water? Some more wine?"

I shake my head. "I'm okay."

He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a slow, deep breath. "You wanna watch a movie or something?"

"I want to see your bedroom." It's very unlike me to be so direct, but one, I still have a bit of a buzz from the wine at dinner, and two, I've been wanting this for months. And for weeks, I've been absolutely _dying_ for it.

Cullen— _Edward_ —grins and caresses my face with the back of his hand. "I think I can manage that."

He doesn't take my hand again. Instead, he wraps his arm around my waist and urges me forward. I like that he doesn't lead, just guides me with his hand at the small of my back as he walks a step behind. He flips a switch when I step into the room, and a lamp turns on next to the bed. His room is typical for a single guy. Big bed made of dark wood. A dresser that matches. A blue plaid comforter. The bed is made, and the room smells so good…like him.

Edward leans against the wall next to his bedroom door, not making a move toward me at all. But I really, _really_ want him to. I take charge of the situation and reach for the hem of my dress, pulling it up and over my head without hesitation, watching his slightly surprised, clouded eyes.

Standing in front of him in my lacy underthings, I bite my bottom lip and glance down, wondering how much of a good idea this is, but then I look back up at him from under my lashes, hoping it has the effect on him that I think it might.

"Fuck," he mumbles and runs a hand through his close-cropped hair. His reaction gives me confidence and sends a shiver through me. "You look perfect." He stands in one spot, clenching his hands into fists and then unclenching them again, over and over, like he's having trouble keeping them to himself.

I almost say out loud that I don't _want_ him to keep his hands to himself. I know what he's trying to show me through his actions, but he has nothing to prove to me. Instead, I try to tell him with my eyes that it's okay and answer the question in his with a nod. He takes a deep breath and crosses the room to get to me in less than three long strides. His lips are on mine instantly, his tongue insistent as he kisses me hard and deep. Wandering hands make their way down my sides to dip down into the back of my underwear, where he squeezes my cheeks and pulls me against him.

"You're beautiful," he says when he finally tears his mouth away from mine.

I make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, then push it off his broad, strong shoulders, but he stills my hands when I reach for the button on his shorts. "You sure about this?" he asks, ducking his head to meet my eyes. "I don't want you to have any doubts."

He doesn't show his sweet side all that often, but when he does, it makes me melt. This is one of those moments, and of _course_ I'm sure about this. "Yes," I say without preamble, then go back to undoing his button and zipper.

He takes the shorts off, pushing his boxer briefs down with them, something I wasn't expecting yet. But I look down, and he's thick and hard, and wow… I want that. My breathing picks up as he unhooks my bra and then slides my underwear down my legs, and we're standing here naked. That part went much faster than I imagined it would. I take charge and override potential awkwardness by kissing him forcefully as I push him back on the bed. Instead of straddling him like I want to at first, I lie next to him, pressing my body against his and exploring his modestly muscled form with my hands and lips.

"Bella," he says, closing his eyes as his head dips back against the pillows. "What you do to me…"

When I take him in my hand, he takes in a sharp breath of air and thrusts his hips up the slightest bit. I stroke his length lightly with my fingers, barely touching his soft skin, wanting him to feel in a physical way this torturous buildup I've been experiencing for months.

I trail my fingernails back down his shaft and palm his balls gently before I start the meandering journey back up. When I reach the head, I circle one finger around the ridge there, then lean down to lick the tip. His eyes fly open as I taste the salt of him, and I hold his gaze when I wrap my lips around him fully, sliding them down his length slowly.

"You're driving me insane," he mutters, breathless.

I make slow passes up and down, up and down, using my tongue to swirl around the ridge at the top each time I reach it.

"Fuck." Edward reaches down and hauls me up with his hands under my arms. "This'll be over fast if you don't cool it."

I grin victoriously, but that doesn't last long. In seconds, he has me on my back, and let me tell you…

There's no sight in the world more beautiful than Edward Cullen's face between my thighs.

His green eyes pierce mine. It leaves me bare in a metaphorical way, too, but I can't look away. It's electric. And while I feel vulnerable, it's also empowering, watching his tongue work me over as he brands me with his stare.

He hums lowly against my most sensitive spot, and my eyes refuse to stay open any longer. Flames lick higher and higher until I'm _right there_ , but then his tongue is gone. I'm left bewildered and needy and shaking as he crawls back up my body until he's hovering over me, staring me down again.

"I want to be inside you the first time I make you come."

Dead. I'm dead. I watch him roll on a condom, thinking that those words could catapult me into a spontaneous orgasm right here and now.

He enters me slowly, gently. I might whisper his name, but I'm too drunk on him to be sure. He shudders when he's all the way in and pauses for a second, lowering himself so he can kiss me as he pulls back out and pushes in again. Our kissing grows frantic, and I bite his pouty bottom lip, just like I've always wanted. His answer is a groan and a harder thrust.

As we adjust to one another, his movements grow faster, harder, and I meet him, match him, wrap my legs around him, then unwrap them, spreading my knees farther apart and pushing my heels into the bed for leverage.

"Bella," he says roughly into my neck. "I need you to come. Let me feel it."

His words and the intensity between us drive me higher until eventually I hit the glass ceiling and shatter it. I know sounds, words, are coming out of my mouth, but I can't be sure what they are. I'm blinded by the feeling coursing through my body, deafened by his voice.

"There it is," he mumbles. "God, you feel good."

Edward's thrusts grow frantic as I ride out my high, loving the way he slams into me on the tail end of my mind-bending climax. His groan in my ear and lips tugging roughly at mine tell me that he's there, and he clutches me closer and sucks at the sensitive skin on my neck as he comes. Hips and hands and kisses slow even as our hearts race. I wrap my legs around him again and lock my ankles together, needing him to stay, needing to feel him inside me for just another minute. He understands my unspoken message and stays, panting against my neck and brushing kisses there.

"Babe," he whispers against my ear after a bit. I shiver again. It's the first time he's used a pet name for me, and it's my favorite. "I have to move. The condom…"

I nod and unwrap my legs from around his waist, and he kisses me long and deep as he pulls out. When he climbs out of bed and makes his way toward the master bathroom, I watch without shame, admiring his spectacular ass, the dimples just above it, his muscled back. _He's perfect._ My face catches fire at my hypocrisy in objectifying him like that.

 _Who cares?_ whispers a smaller part of my brain. I bite my lip against a smile and throw an arm over my eyes.

"What're you grinning about?" Edward asks. He crawls over me, pecking me on the lips quickly but softly, and then settles down, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against him. The way he surrounds me makes me feel precious. He's warm and firm…aside from the now soft part of him that's pressed against my leg, just below my butt. I wiggle against him, and he chuckles and kisses my shoulder. "No, really. Clue me in."

"You're really asking me that?"

"I am."

I want to be snarky, to come up with something clever, but I can't concentrate when my entire body is this alive. The fingers of his left hand are tickling my right hip, and his right thumb is caressing the underside of my left breast.

"I…" Swallowing hard, I decide it's time to be serious, straightforward. I trail my fingertips up and down his arm and feel goosebumps rise. "It's just…"

"What?" He combs his fingers through my long hair, moving it to the side so he can ghost his lips over my neck.

"You're making it real hard to think, you know that?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Wish I could say I was sorry."

"Edward…"

"Mmm." His moan vibrates against the skin just below my jawline, and I feel him twitch against the back of my leg. He tilts my head to the side with his fingers soft at my chin and kisses my lips. Never in a million years did I imagine this. All the times I thought about this, _fantasized_ about being in his bed… I never expected him to be so gentle. So quiet. "You're not going to tell me about the smile then?"

I sigh, but it's a happy sigh that's sort of a half-laugh. "Fine," I relent, squirming so he'll loosen his hold on me and I can turn to face him. His arms are around me again in an instant, pulling me chest-to-toe close. "It was sort of a…victory smile."

He laughs in a full-on, genuinely amused way that makes me giggle too. "A victory smile?"

"Yeah. Sort of."

"And here I was thinking you were going to say it was because you were just happy. Or that I rocked your world."

I giggle and trail my fingers over his back. "I was happy. I _am_ happy. Because…well, I've been wanting to do that with you for a long time."

His eyes widen. "How long are we talking here?"

"Wellllll…" I draw out the word, wondering how honest I should be here, whether or not I should stroke his huge…ego. "For a while."

"How long?" he repeats, grinning and smoothing his hand down the dip of my side, the swell of my hip. "Are we talking hours? Days? Weeks?"

"I'm talking months," I say. "Pretty much a couple of weeks after we met."

He's speechless. Incredulous.

"That is, _after_ I forgave you for being such a jerk that first day."

His eyes dart back and forth between mine, but he breaks out into a grin. "You'll have to refresh my memory. I'm a jerk about fifty percent of the time."

I nudge his leg with my knee. "The very first time we met."

"What'd I do?"

"I can't even remember," I say honestly. "We argued over something stupid."

"Hmm." He pulls me close again and kisses the top of my head. "I don't remember that."

"Doesn't surprise me. We argue a lot."

"Argued," he corrects.

" _Argue_ ," I say. "Two nights ago?"

Edward frowns. "I wouldn't call that an argument."

"I yelled at you. I jumped to conclusions. Actually, I don't think I apologized for that. Don't shrug it off," I tell him when he lifts a shoulder and looks down.

"You weren't mad at me. I know you weren't."

"But I should've trusted you, like you said." I knew it then, and I'm extra sure of it now. For the first time since I met Edward Cullen, I'm _so_ sure of him.

"It's in the past," he says, meeting my eyes again and brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. "Let's talk about now."

I kiss his thumb and smile. "I like now."

"I love now," he says, leaning in and capturing my lips with his. It's another soft kiss, a reverent one, but it grows heated. I can feel him getting hard again where he's pressed against my leg, so I wrap it around his waist so he can slide against me, marveling for half a second at the fact that he's ready to go again so soon.

"You're already wet," he breathes, making me blush. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. It's hot."

Something fiery courses through me. "I want you," I say, gasping as hard glides against soft.

"Good," he pants.

I urge him onto his back and straddle his legs, taking him in my hand and just feeling the heaviness, the heat, and watching his eyes close and open again. He stares me down, and I think I might combust.

"Nightstand drawer," he says.

I lean over and pull the shallow drawer open. There's a ridiculous assortment of foil packets. Not that they fill the drawer or anything. There's just… I shake my head of any thought besides him and me and us. _Us._

"You look good like that."

I look back at him, and he's smirking at me like he does.

"On your hands and knees, I mean."

I sit up and open the condom so I can roll it onto him. "Maybe if you're lucky, I'll let you see it again."

"Oh yeah?" He breathes out slowly as I sink down onto him.

"Yeah."

His hands smooth up my waist to my breasts, then move slowly down again to grip my hips. "I like this view, too."

He's a talker. I've never been with a guy who likes to talk during sex.

I like it.

"God, you look good, Bella."

I close my eyes and feel. Just feel. His hands on me. His skin under my touch. Him inside me.

This time's rougher, but the way he's looking at me makes me feel cherished. It's so good.

It's _so_ good.

Him. Me. Us. _Us, us, us._

Edward holds me still and drives up into me, hitting places that send sparks shooting through my body. I tilt forward and brace myself with my hands on the headboard for leverage, looking down at him, never breaking eye contact. I can tell by the way his movements slow that he's holding off, so I move faster.

"Bella, I can't…" he says roughly. "I'm gonna…"

The sparks catch and ignite, and I close my eyes, my back arching as he drives into me again. We're both making incoherent noises. I collapse onto his chest. We're out of breath, a little sweaty, and completely boneless.

"Sorry," he rasps.

My eyebrows draw together, even though my face is hidden against his neck. "For what?"

"I couldn't hold out."

"Oh," I say, dropping kisses along his jaw as I raise my head to look at him. "Don't worry. I got mine."

He laughs. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hopefully that again."

"You've always got a comeback ready for me, huh?"

"Have to be on my toes with you," I say, kissing his lips this time. "And you know you like it."

"I do." He smacks his palm against my butt playfully, then urges me up with his hands on my hips. "Back in a sec."

He goes to the bathroom, and I follow a few seconds later so I can go when he's done.

"Stay," Edward says when we're back in bed.

"Okay," I say without hesitation. I want to wake up to his gorgeous face, his naked body wrapped around mine. Neither of us says another word. I'm suddenly exhausted. Even though I want to relish this night, bask in the aftermath of what I've wanted for so long, my eyelids grow heavier and heavier until I can't fight it anymore, and I give in to a blissful sleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. :)


	14. Chapter 14

I wake up to Edward's touch. He's not wrapped around me or pressed up against me like he was the couple of times I woke during the night. Instead, I feel the tickle of fingertips against my back, ghosting over my skin, like he's afraid to disturb me. He traces my spine slowly with a single finger, hesitating when he reaches the base and then moving to my side to trace back up again. My eyes slide closed, and I know my breathing has changed with the quickening of my heart rate. He has to know I'm awake now.

"Morning," he whispers, confirming my suspicion. He presses his lips just below my right shoulder blade once before scooting closer so we're chest-to-back. "I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't," I rasp in my morning voice.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Mm. Perfect."

Edward's fingers draw circles on my stomach, and I love this lazy, sweet wakeup. His bed is so comfy, the sheets soft and the pillows fluffy, and he's so cozy at my back. I stretch, arching my back and feeling his morning wood against my butt. For some reason, it makes me giggle.

"What're you laughing at?" His voice is muffled. I turn onto my other side to find his face half pressed into the pillow.

"Not laughing at anything." I trace his stubbly cheeks and jaw. He opens his eyes to meet mine, and I smile softly. Morning Edward is adorable and sexy all at once. He's got pillow creases and droopy eyelids and messy hair, and he's looking at me through those to-die-for lashes and half-grinning at me with pouty lips. If his touch didn't completely recharge me, his appearance certainly does.

"What?"

"Just you," I say almost bashfully. "I like you."

He chuckles and takes my hand in his. "Good thing."

I pull our hands up and kiss his knuckles instead. "I can't remember if I thanked you for last night. For dinner and everything."

"You're welcome."

I wait for him to come up with some sarcastic comment about what else we did last night, but it doesn't come. It's surprising because it's so unlike the Edward I know. Each time we're alone together, he shows me more. More of his realness. I learn something different every time.

"And thank you, too." He copies my move and kisses my knuckles, one by one. Then he ducks his head and kisses my shoulder, across my chest, nudging me onto my back as I go. Heat surges through me, culminating between my thighs.

Sleep-warmed skin. Soft touches. Little smiles, like we're keeping a secret between us. His body covering me. Mine opening for him.

In the light of day, it's slow and sweet but not shy. It's the two of us tangled together like we've always been this intimate. It's quiet, all sighs and gasps and hushed moans. He watches me as I struggle to keep my eyes open. I want to fall into everything I'm feeling, but I want to share it with him, too. I remember marveling last night at how gentle Edward could be. This morning, it feels like it could never be any other way.

He searches my eyes and then drops his lips to my ear. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he says in a hushed, deep voice, making my insides flutter in the dreamiest way.

My lips part, but there's nothing to say. His question doesn't warrant an answer. I've always known he was good with words. Charming, as he called it. But this doesn't feel like that. I feel worshipped. I feel…loved. In a manner of speaking.

We move together slowly, not chasing anything, content just to be joined like this, to be wrapped up in one another, to just feel. Eventually, lazy, pulsing waves drag me under, and I press my face into his neck, breathing him in. He smells familiar and warm, safe. He feels like everything I never expected. He feels like everything I've ever wanted.

* * *

Item number seventy-six on the list of surprising things I've learned this weekend: Edward reads the Sunday morning paper. I didn't know people still did that. I certainly didn't expect that Edward would. We're propped up in his bed with coffee and _The Post and Courier_ and sunshine streaming in through the blinds. It's all very domestic. Except for the fact that we're still naked. I did the cliché thing and shrugged on Edward's button-down from last night while he was in the bathroom. But after we made coffee and ate toast, he coaxed me out of it again and back into bed.

"Covering all this up is a crying shame," he said with a smirk.

 _There's the Edward I'm familiar with_ , I thought as he undid the two buttons I'd fastened and pushed the shirt off my shoulders and to the floor. So now here we are, sitting up against the pillows. He's got the classifieds and a pen, and I'm on the last page of the funnies.

"Did I tell you I have a job interview tomorrow?" he asks suddenly.

"No!" I put the colorful pages down and give him my full attention. "What kind of job?"

"Remember how I said I wanted to do medical sales?"

I nod and sip my coffee.

"That."

It's all he says. I laugh and kiss his bicep—God, it's a nice bicep—before rifling through the newspaper for something else to read. "What does it entail? I mean would you get to travel and stuff?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. Could just be for the local hospitals, though."

"Hm. Well, I hope you get it." Something's bothering me, but I don't know how to put words to it without seeming insensitive. "Can I ask you something?" I finally say, biting my lip.

"Hm?"

"I don't want to pry, and you can tell me to butt out if you want. But…you haven't had a job for a while now, and I'm just sort of wondering how…" I pause and bite my lip before getting up the nerve to go on. "How do you, you know, get money?"

"I have savings," he says, putting the paper down and draining the rest of his coffee. "And I've got investments."

"Oh," I say lamely. "What kind of investments?"

"I have a couple of townhomes I rent out. And I made a pretty hefty profit on a house I flipped back in February."

"Geez, Cullen," I say, bumping my shoulder against his. "It's like you're a real live grown-up."

"I don't know about all that," he says. "My dad made a lot in real estate. It was kind of a thing that was pounded into my head growing up."

"Smart."

"Mm."

"Is it okay that I asked you that? I didn't overstep a boundary, did I?"

"Nah." He yawns and stretches out on the bed, pulling me down next to him. "I don't mind."

We lie there in silence, me snuggled up against his chest, him tracing patterns on my back softly.

"Know what I just remembered?" Edward says just as my eyelids are starting to droop.

"Hmm?"

"Jasper," he says, mimicking Alice's breathy tones from last night.

"Oh, hot damn!" I bolt upright. "I totally forgot!"

He laughs. "Do you have a phone call to make?"

I hop out of bed and grab my phone from Edward's dresser where it's been charging. I've already got several texts from Alice.

 _Where are you?_

 _Are you okay? Cullen didn't murder you and leave you in a ditch somewhere, did he?_

 _OMG. You're totally having sex with him right now, aren't you? Jezebel._

I snort and show Edward my phone.

"That tiny little hypocrite!" He laughs and pulls me by the wrist until I'm beside him on the bed again. I dial Alice's number when I'm settled again.

"Bella!" Alice answers, sounding more excited than ever. "Where the eff are you? You're at Cullen's, aren't you? You dirty, dirty—"

"Yes!" I interrupt her. "I'm at Edward's. And you're one to talk."

There's silence down the line. "What're you—"

"We came back to the house last night after dinner."

"And?" she prompts.

"Aaaaand we had to leave pretty much as soon as we walked in."

"How's Jasper this morning?" Edward asks loudly enough for her to hear.

"Oh my god!" Alice shrieks. "No!"

"Oh, yes," I say with a giggle.

"Shit. Shit shit shit. I could deal with you knowing, but Cullen? He has such a big mouth, Bella!"

"Hey!" he retorts. "I don't have—"

I cover his mouth with my hand. "He won't say anything, Alice. I swear."

"Yes, he will!" she wails. "He won't be able to resist the urge to give Jasper shit about this."

"I just can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I know!" she says. "I know. It was just…one of those things."

"How long?" I ask.

"Last night was only the second time. The first was last week. We sort of hooked up while you were out of town."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," I repeat. "You were all evasive about it last night."

"I know," she sighs. "I just liked having it between us. You know?"

I glance at Edward, knowing exactly what she means. Even he looks a little bit sympathetic. "I do."

Edward squeezes my hand, and I look up to find him gesturing for the phone. I give him an inquisitive look, but he plucks it from my hand.

"I, for one, would like to thank you, Alice."

I giggle when I hear her shouting at him.

"If you'd been available to play chaperone, we wouldn't have had an excuse to come back to my place and—" He pauses, and I hear Alice yelling again. "What do you mean you don't want to hear the dirty details? We heard plenty of _your_ dirty details."

I scramble for the phone, wrestling it away from him with some effort.

"Sorry," I tell Alice. "You know I won't tell a soul. And I swear Edward won't breathe a word to anyone."

He raises an eyebrow, but I meet his cocky gaze head on.

"I have ways of making him promise."

"Ah, fuck me," he grumbles.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading and for the sweet reviews. And thanks to Rachelfish for indulging me when I'm being needy. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

Two days later, we get a group text from McCarty, telling us to be at our regular watering hole that night for a big surprise.

 _Ur pregnant?_ three people respond right away.

 _Yeah_ , he replies. _Food baby._

Alice says the surprise is probably something lame like a new sponsor for the club (which I don't consider lame), but she comes along anyway. She'll take any excuse to be with Whitlock.

When we walk into the bar, a sizeable group is already gathered around our usual spot. A tall girl with dark, stick-straight hair is standing at the head of the table, gesturing wildly and laughing. I've never seen her before. At first I wonder if she's here with one of the guys, but soon it becomes clear that everyone's attention is on her.

"Swan! Alice!" McCarty shouts, pulling me against his side and then turning me to face the girl. "I want you to meet Charlotte Mullins. She played with the club before you joined and moved away about a year ago."

"Nice to meet you," I say, shaking her hand.

"Likewise." Her smile is huge and bright white and sincere.

Alice offers her own pleasantries before excusing herself to the "little girls' room." Yeah, right. She's off to find Whitlock.

"Where is it you moved to?" I ask Charlotte as I crack open a beer.

"Barcelona. But I've sort of hopped around Europe since then."

"Wow," I say, legitimately impressed.

"Ugh, that sounds so pretentious, right?" She laughs. "I promise I'm not one of _those_ people."

"Not at all," I tell her. I hate to be so silly, because I really do love my life, but I'm already envious of this girl. When I say she's tall, I mean almost Amazonian. She's probably about Edward's height. Her boobs are almost eye-level with me, which is just ridiculous when added to the fact that they're really nice boobs. And she's freaking gorgeous with her not-quite-black hair and big blue eyes and legs for days. Plus, she apparently flounces around Europe all the time.

We chat for a few minutes about soccer and teammates and life in Spain. She's super friendly. I find myself wishing I'd known her when she lived here. We could use girls in the club who aren't complete bitches.

Yeah, I'm still mad at Jessica and her big mouth.

As I'm talking, Charlotte looks over my head. Her face lights up, and her eyes get even bigger.

"Cullen!" she shouts.

I turn to see Edward approaching the group with a look of pure shock on his face. Charlotte throws her arms around him and squeezes tight, then kisses him on the cheek. Immediately, a surge of white hot jealousy shoots through me. He hugs her back, lifting her slightly off the ground. I keep my distance as she babbles and gestures enthusiastically. I shouldn't be jealous. Apparently, they're old friends.

"Sorry, Bella," Charlotte says a moment later. "I got excited when I saw this pretty face." She pinches his cheek and giggles.

"Oh, haha!" I try to keep my voice light and friendly, but it sounds uneasy and forced.

"Ah, stop it." Edward grabs her wrist and pulls her against his side for another hug. Jealousy stabs at my gut again. "Hey, I'm going to the bar. You want anything?" Charlotte says no, but he shoots me a meaningful look, so I join him.

We make our way to the farthest corner of the bar to order our drinks out of sight. Edward tilts my chin up and kisses me quickly.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hi."

"I missed you yesterday."

Jealousy is replaced by a fluttering in my belly. "Me too." I hook my pinky with his. "Did you hear anything about the job?"

"Not yet. They said they'd be making decisions in a couple of weeks."

When we talked on the phone after his interview yesterday, he said he thought it went really well. I'm excited for him, but I'm also apprehensive about the travel part. We've only just started to get serious, and now he might possibly have a job where he'll be traveling seventy-five percent of the time. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but for some reason, it rattles me.

"What are you two doing all the way over here?" Ben Cheney asks, poking his head between us and grinning at me. Ever since I figured out that he has a crush on me, I've felt a little awkward around Ben, but the guy's just so damned likeable. I'm pretty sure he knows that Edward and I have a thing going on, but he hasn't let on.

"Less crowded. Easier to get drinks," I tell him, even though we have yet to be served.

"Grab me a PBR, will ya?" he asks. "I'll get you next round."

"Cheney pisses me off," Edward grumbles. The bartender points at him, and he holds up three fingers.

"Why?"

"The way he looks at you. He's always flirting with you. I don't like it."

"Cullen." I laugh. "He's been doing that since he joined the team."

"Yeah, but things are different now."

"He doesn't know that," I point out.

He just shrugs and hands me a beer before leading me back to the group.

* * *

Late night hours find us perched on barstools, sharing cheese fries again with the usual stragglers. Charlotte doesn't partake. She says she _doesn't do cheese_. Or fried foods. Or bacon.

Weirdo.

She's been all over Edward all night, and I'm liking her less and less. I don't even have anyone to be snarky with, because Alice disappeared forever ago with Whitlock. She texted and let me know they went to his house this time. Thank God.

"Cullen and I go way back," Charlotte is saying, leaning to the side so her head's on his shoulder.

I want to lay my head on his shoulder. I want to put my hand on his thigh possessively and feel free to kiss him whenever I want to, no matter where we are. Instead, I'm sitting across from the two of them. Charlotte basically stole the stool right out from under me before I had a chance to sit down next to Edward. It's become clear to me that there was something between them before she left.

"Our last names rhyme!" she says with a laugh. "I always said if we got married, I'd only have to switch out the _M_ in Mullins to a _C_ , and voila!"

Edward widens his eyes and pokes my leg with his foot under the table. All I can do is raise an eyebrow and force a smile.

"Actually," I interrupt, "if you did that, it'd be Cullins. And that's not exactly Edward's name."

 _Oops._ I might be a little drunk.

Charlotte gives me an odd look but replaces it with a smile a second later. "They're calling you Edward these days?" she asks with a laugh.

I kick her under the table. Accidentally, of course.

She yelps and reaches down to rub her shin.

"Oh, sorry! Was that you, Charlotte? I was just swinging my leg and…well…" I trail off with an apologetic shrug.

My hypocrisy rears its ugly head once again. Didn't I just tell Edward that Cheney only flirts with me because he doesn't know we're together? So really, I can't really fault Charlotte either. She doesn't know. No one here does…officially anyway. And come on. He's Edward Cullen. Any girl with any sort of libido wouldn't be able to help herself.

I get a private thrill thinking about the fact that he's with me.

"Hey, I've got something for you in my car, Cullen," Charlotte says. "Come outside with me?"

"Uh, yeah," Edward says. "Back in a minute." His words are ostensibly meant for everyone, but his eyes are on me.

"Subtle," I mumble as I watch them walk away.

"You're just gonna let that happen?"

I turn to face Cheney, who's pointing toward the door. "What?"

"Come on." He raises an eyebrow at me. "It's really obvious there's something between y'all."

"I—"

"He might as well be walking around with _Property of Bella Swan_ stamped on his forehead."

"It's…" I wait for him to interrupt again, but he just grins smugly. "There's not… He's not my _property_."

"But you _are_ hooking up."

"Hooking up?"

"Unless it's just another product of the rumor mill. I heard he hooked up with Lauren, too, but that turned out to be false."

"Cheney," I say sharply.

"So it's more than hooking up."

"Would you butt out already?" I cry. "It's just…not something I'm prepared to discuss, okay?"

He surveys me for a moment before a soft smile passes over his face. "Okay."

Minutes pass, and I'm pretty sure tension is radiating from me. McCarty and Rose come back to the table after their pool game ends, completely unaware of the situation. Cheney still looks smug. I'm about two seconds from grabbing my bag and leaving, but then Charlotte breezes in and heads straight for me. She grabs my hand and pulls me away from the table, and at first I'm afraid she's one of those ridiculous _I'll beat your ass over this boy_ types.

"Shit, Bella," she says instead. "I am _so_ sorry. I had no idea. I've been going on and on all night."

I'm not exactly sure how to respond. I suddenly feel like an ass for kicking her. "Um. Thanks?"

"If I'd known Cullen had a girlfriend, I wouldn't have…" She trails off.

"He said that?" I'm sure the smile that takes over my face is completely goofy.

"Said what?"

"He called me his girlfriend?"

She looks confused, but then she snorts and pats my arm. "Oh, girl. You two are perfect for each other."

"Oh. Well, thanks," I repeat lamely.

"I mean it. He's completely smitten." Her expression turns serious. "I hope you know how lucky you are. I don't know how you did it. I tried like hell for the better part of a year to tame that guy."

"Yeah." I look away and spot Edward sitting at our table again with a somewhat worried look, eyes locked on me. "I am. Really lucky."

* * *

"So, Charlotte's nice," I say as Edward and I walk back to my place a little while later.

He snorts.

"What?"

"Don't pretend you weren't staring daggers at her all night."

"I wasn't!" I protest. "Well, not _all_ night. I liked her at first. And then again there at the end."

"Yeah," he says with a laugh. "She's nice."

"How long did you two date?"

Edward scratches the back of his neck. "I wouldn't say we _dated_."

My face flushes hot as I realize what he's getting at. "So you were fuck buddies."

"If you want to be crass about it, then yes. I guess that's what we were."

I wish I hadn't said that. I should've known he wasn't going to dance around the subject, that he wasn't going to pander to me. That's not him.

"Sorry," I say abashedly. "I didn't mean to be crass. I'm just… I don't know. Insecure."

He wrinkles his forehead. "Insecure how?"

"It's just another gorgeous girl everyone teases you about."

He takes my hand in his. "You know _you're_ the gorgeous girl people tease me about now, right?"

My head jerks up. "What?"

He nods. "I can't believe you didn't know how I felt about you sooner. I figured it was obvious because Mac and Whitlock gave me so much shit. McCarty once threatened to castrate me if I laid a hand on you."

I giggle. "He did not."

"Scout's fucking honor he did."

"Were you even a Boy Scout?" I ask skeptically.

"I was."

Chalk it up as item number eighty-four I didn't know about him.

"Guess I'd better get as much enjoyment out of you as I can before he finds out, then."

"You." Edward stops in the middle of the sidewalk and turns me around, pulling me flush against him. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

I try to shake my head, but his lips are on mine, hot and insistent.

"Get a room!" shouts a guy passing by on a bicycle.

We break apart, laughing.

* * *

"Is she home?" Edward asks, nodding toward the front door when we reach my house.

"Uh-uh."

"So no bed noises?"

I laugh. "She went to Whitlock's."

"Oh. Good. So can I come in?"

"Duh." I unlock the door and pull him inside. "Can you stay?"

"Duh," he mimics.

It's the first time we've been alone together in my house. I want to take him straight to my bedroom, but there's a niggling thought that's been at the back of my mind, and I can't ignore it anymore. I lead him into the kitchen first and pour two glasses of cold water, then sit down at the table.

"So you and Charlotte—"

"Are we really gonna talk about that?" he interrupts.

"It's relevant, Edward."

He shakes his head and downs his entire glass of water. "I fail to see what it has to do with us."

"I'm just…" I search for the right words. "I was just thinking about how… I mean whether things are different with us."

His brow furrows. "Are you serious?"

"I don't know. You've said yourself in the past that you don't do relationships."

"After everything I said to you last Thursday? After this entire last weekend? You're serious?"

I'm sort of ashamed now that I even brought this up. He looks…hurt. It's the second time in the span of a week that I've made him look like that. It makes me feel like utter crap.

"Sorry," I say to the table.

"Look, Bella. You're right. I haven't done a real relationship in a long time. But that doesn't mean I don't want one." He reaches across the table and takes both of my hands in his. "With you. And you only."

I meet his eyes and see the conviction there, the sincerity.

"I feel…" He pauses and licks his lips, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I don't know. Different. About you. A lot different."

I search his eyes. I want him to go on. So I don't breathe a single word.

"It's been a long time since I've had a girlfriend."

That word sends tingles through my body. It's the first time he's said it directly to me.

"But I want that with you."

"Me too," I breathe, scooting forward in my chair.

The prolonged eye contact gets a little intense in the quiet kitchen, so Edward clears his throat and nods at the half-full glass in front of me.

"Finish your water," he says. "I want to see your bedroom."

I giggle and comply with his wishes.

* * *

I wake up sweaty in the middle of the night. Edward puts out a lot of heat, and the ancient air conditioning isn't all that efficient in this old house. I kick off the duvet and let the ceiling fan cool me down. Even after I'm cool again, I toss and turn, glancing at the clock on my bedside table periodically. Three a.m. rolls around, and I'm still restless.

"What's the matter, babe?" Edward mumbles next to me.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I woke up hot and can't get back to sleep."

"Want me to help?" His eyes are closed, but his hand travels down between my legs.

"If you—" I gasp. "If you want to."

He kisses my shoulder and then my neck. "I want to."

His fingers circle and stroke and dip inside me. He makes every part of this so amazing. I reach down and wrap my hand around him, feeling him hard and thick and waiting. "Are you on birth control, Bella?" he whispers in the dark.

"No," I breathe, wishing with every single fiber of my being that I was.

"Too bad," he murmurs, moving his long finger in and out slowly. "I'm dying to feel this around me."

"God, I wish." Part of me is embarrassed that I'm basically panting into his ear. The rest of me couldn't care less.

We're silent for a minute, letting our hands do the talking for us.

And I make a mental note to call my doctor first thing tomorrow.


	16. Chapter 16

"Ow! Damn it," I whine as a twig scrapes my arm. The trees and bushes surrounding our makeshift practice field are thick and unruly, but when a ball whizzed past me moments ago right into the tangle of branches and vines, I welcomed the chance to hunt it down. It's nearing the end of September, but it's still blazing hot. I'm already sweaty and out of breath. This brief reprieve is the perfect excuse to rest for a minute in the shade. Peewee football started last week, taking over our regular practice field. The one we're using these days is more of a clearing in a park than a field, but it works for now.

I search the undergrowth halfheartedly and finally spy the ball just on the other side of a low-hanging, hip-high branch of an ancient oak tree. When I bend over it to reach, a pair of large hands grasps my hips. Even if his firm grip and scent weren't as familiar to me as they are, it could be only one person. No one else could possibly be so bold. Plus, if it _were_ anyone else, I'd have slugged them right away.

I turn my head to the side to see Edward grinning mischievously down at me. I right myself and twist in his grip, and while his hold slackens, he doesn't let go.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

"Your aim is much better than that. You kicked the ball in here on purpose so I'd go after it."

He shrugs and takes another step into me. "Maybe."

"I bet you put this branch here too, didn't you?" I giggle, but he ducks his head toward me.

"Maybe I charmed it. You did say I was charming."

"I think what I called you was _sly_." I poke him in the chest. " _You_ said charming." Before I can say anything else, he cuts me off with his lips but pulls back before I can really get into the kiss.

"Maybe I did lure you in here." He locks his arms around my waist and lowers his mouth to mine again, pressing me back into the branch, reaching down to bring my left leg up with his hand behind my knee. His thumb brushes the skin there as he grinds his hard-on against me and lets out a low, quiet groan. Just now, the thick shrubbery and trees are serving a wonderful, _delicious_ purpose.

Edward pulls back too soon and lowers my leg gently, touching his forehead to mine. "Let's finish that later, yeah?"

I nod quickly, more breathless now than I was when I entered the thicket.

"We'll be missed," he continues when I don't move.

"Seems you've got a little problem on your hands, though." I peek down at the front of the shorts that don't do much to hide his bulge.

"There's nothing little about it, and you know it." He smacks my butt as he lets me go and tries to readjust his shorts. "And the problem won't be on _my_ hands." A disgustingly sexy grin crawls across his face.

"Gross," I mutter.

"Not what you said a few nights ago."

If I weren't already flushed and sweaty from the heat and physical exertion, I would most certainly be blushing. Edward takes my silence as agreement.

"That's what I thought." He tilts his head toward the field. "You should get back out there before they realize we're both gone. I need a minute."

"Just think of something gross," I tell him with a smirk. "Isn't that supposed to help? Like McCarty in a Speedo…Mikey slobbering all over Jessica the other night…"

"That'll do," he says quickly.

"Hm." I stoop to pick up the ball I chased in here in the first place, and when I stand, he pulls me forward by the hand. His lips are so soft against mine.

"Later," he whispers again, and I turn to go before it's too late.

A few hours later, Edward is perched on a barstool with his feet resting on the bottom rung. His knees are spread wide, and he looks delicious, all tan and with a healthy glow from sweating at practice. The sleeves have been cut off the faded t-shirt he's wearing, showing off his biceps. He's got that lazy, half-drunk grin going on. The gap between his legs is just big enough for me to wedge myself into, which gives me grandiose ideas. I bite my lip, and when I look up again, I know I've been caught. He winks, and suddenly I can't help myself.

I step between his legs, rest my hands at the top of his strong, hard thighs, and press my lips to his. He doesn't react at first, but when he does, he _really_ does. His hands smooth down my back, and even though I can hear snickering behind me, I can't be bothered enough to care. A couple of months ago, in this very same bar, in the corner not ten feet away from where I'm standing now, I was afraid to let him kiss me. I was afraid for our friends to see. Now, I couldn't care less. The only opinion I care about is Edward's. I'm ready for people to know, ready to show everyone that I'm his and he's mine.

Even so, I hide my face in his neck. I just need a minute. Apparently, he does, too, because he squeezes his hands against my hips to keep me in place.

"Just…stay there a sec, okay?"

I laugh and turn around to face the room. Turns out my worries were unwarranted. A couple of people are staring—most notably Jessica, but I'm not even close to worrying about her. But all in all, there's no fuss. I think we're old news, even if it was just speculation. There are no bulging eyeballs, no judgmental looks. McCarty raises what I guess is supposed to be a threatening eyebrow at Edward, but then he turns his gaze to me and gives me a little wink. He knows I can take care of myself.

Edward pats my hip. "You wanna get out of here?" he asks. I know what he wants, and it's okay because I want it too.

* * *

We go to his place. Alice and Jasper left for ours almost an hour ago, and I don't want to hear their shenanigans. I'm sure everyone knows about them, too. They never stay at the bar for long, and they always leave together. Alice says they don't care if people know, and they aren't being secretive on purpose. She says she'd be truthful if anyone did ask; it's just that no one has.

I find it interesting. Edward's love life seems to be everyone's business, and Whitlock's always among the first to tease him. But no one's said a word to Whitlock.

"What made you do that?" Edward asks as we drive over the bridge toward his house.

"Do what?" I'm distracted by the way he's rubbing my bare knee.

"Out us."

"I just had the urge to kiss you. You were sitting there looking all tempting, and I didn't feel like keeping my hands to myself anymore." I look at him and grin. "Or my lips."

He glances over at me for a second and smiles back. "I'm glad."

"It's been kind of nice living in our own little world, but I'm ready for people to know."

"Me too."

"Good." I grab his hand and bring it to my lips for a kiss.

When we reach his house, the first thing I want is a shower. Edward's shower is a walk-in, the kind with no door or curtain, only separated from the rest of the bathroom by one glass panel. Compared to my tiny clawfoot tub, it's downright luxurious.

Edward joins me once I've finished shampooing my hair. I watch the water run down his chest in rivulets while he lathers soap between his hands. He teases me without even touching my most important parts, hands slipping and gliding over my skin and leaving me breathless. I want to touch him so badly. I can tell without looking that he's hard and ready, but when I reach for him, he moves his hips away.

"Shower sex is dangerous," he teases as he moves me under the streaming water to rinse off.

"You're crazy."

"You're probably right."

I reach for him again, but again he pulls away. "I'm serious, Bella."

My eyebrows pull together as I start to ask why, but he sighs and starts to explain before I can get the question out.

"There was this girl once. A long time ago. We were, you know, going at it in her shower. I can't remember which one of us slipped, but we both bit it. She ended up with a bruised tailbone and a concussion."

I don't want to laugh. I really don't. My lips twitch even though I press them together as tightly as I can, and then I'm giggling into his chest.

"Oh, sure. Laugh it up." He's trying to sound firm, but there's amusement in his voice.

"I'm sorry. It's just…" I can't even get the words out through my laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. I felt like an asshole." Edward reaches behind me and turns off the water, then hands me a towel from a hook on the wall. "Especially because I'd planned on breaking up with her the next morning."

I gasp. "You did not!"

"Well, I couldn't do it while she was lying in a hospital bed because of me. Even I'm not that much of a jerk."

"Okay, so no shower sex." I dry myself off and comb the tangles from my hair, then perch on the countertop next to the sink. "But what about bathroom counter sex?"

He lifts an eyebrow as he runs a towel briskly over his hair. "Now _that_ I can manage."

* * *

 **A/N:** I know this chapter's late and sort of short, but ugh. I keep getting sick and better and sick again! :/ Excuses, excuses…I know. Thanks for your patience!


	17. Chapter 17

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Alice drives Edward and me to the airport for our respective flights home.

Edward's parents are in Chicago, where he grew up. Mine are in Seattle, where my dad's family lives. Charlie, my dad, moved to Charleston for college, where he met my mom, Renee, and never looked back until just a few years ago. They decided they were tired of oppressive southern summers and bought a condo back in Seattle, where they live the majority of the year.

We decided it was too early to meet the parents. Well, _I_ sort of decided. Edward says his mom, Esme, has been dying to meet me. I was just impressed that he talks to her about me. I told him I was nervous that my dad would scare him off, but truthfully, it's because I don't want to spook him. Being in an adult relationship when you're in your early thirties means people tease you relentlessly about getting married.

We can't be having any of that around here.

So no. There won't be any meeting of the parents until we make decisions about our future. _If_ we make any decisions about our future.

At the airport, we linger in the spot between our concourses until we absolutely have to go.

"I'll miss you," I say, standing on tiptoe and putting my arms around his neck.

"Me too." Edward's lips find mine, and we kiss, slow and sizzly but not too inappropriate for an airport. He puts his arms around my waist, and we sort of rock back and forth for a minute. "I have to go," he says finally.

"I'll see you Sunday?"

"Sunday." He frames my face with warm hands, kisses my lips once, and moves his mouth to my ear. "I love you," he whispers. Then he kisses my forehead and walks away.

I stand there stunned, just… _floored_ …staring at his retreating form.

 _What just happened?_

Did he actually say that? Did he actually tell me he _loves me_ and then walk away? I want to say something, want to call out to him, but nothing happens. Instead, I just keep staring, and he just keeps getting farther away. He hikes his backpack higher on his shoulder and, just before he rounds a corner, turns and winks at me.

* * *

Edward Cullen said he loves me. And what did I do? I stood there lamely, trying to remember how to shuffle my feet and walk. Now I'm sitting in my window seat next to a man in a suit, staring at the back of the seat in front of me, alternately chewing on a fingernail and wringing my hands together.

 _What do I do?_ I fret. He loves me. _Loves_ me. How could he just tell me that and walk away? What am I supposed to do? Should I text him? Should I call him when I land? Was it a spur of the moment thing, or was it premeditated? It reminds me of when he left me that Facebook message and then went out of town. I remember thinking back then that he was a scared little man-boy who was giving himself an out. I like to think I know him much better now. But still…

"Nervous flyer?" my neighbor asks, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I turn to look at him, and the words just fall right out of my mouth. "My boyfriend loves me."

He gives me a strange look and goes back to his paperback.

I retreat inside my head again. I have no idea what to do with this. I just need to relax. Blowing out a deep breath, I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. Instead of worrying about what I should've done—I _should've_ said something immediately, I _should've_ texted him when I boarded, I _should've_ made him come back and explain himself—I let myself relive the moment. His lips brushing against my ear. His low whisper that sent shockwaves through my body.

 _I love you_.

Plain and simple.

Just like that.

My first instinct is to be irritated with him for saying such weighted words and leaving me there like that. But I can't find it in me to resent him right now. The more I think about it, the more I understand. It's him. It's Cullen. He doesn't _do_ big moments and grand gestures. He doesn't draw things out. He's just not comfortable with it. I get it. What's important is…I think he really meant it.

He loves me.

#

My eyes flutter open as soon as the wheels bump the runway in Seattle. I must've drifted off during the incredibly stupid in-flight movie. I yank my earbuds out and reach down to stuff them into my bag as the plane taxis to the gate. All around me, cell phones are chiming to life, reminding me that I need to text my parents. I pull my phone out, and as I wait for it to switch on, the words Cullen said to me just a few hours ago wash over me again. I feel like a living pinball machine as a million different emotions zing back and forth through my body, but then a calm warmth settles in.

I half-expect to see a message from him when my phone finally wakes up, but all I've got are texts from Alice and my mom.

* * *

I don't technically have a bedroom at my parents' Seattle condo. There's a tiny guest room with two twin beds, one of which is occupied by my cousin Bree, who's also visiting from out of town. While I'm normally more than happy to share, all I currently want to do is shower away the day of travel, curl up in bed, and call Cullen. I haven't had a minute to myself. I've barely glanced at my phone since I was swept up by my parents at the airport. I snuck a furtive peek under the dinner table, but there was nothing. No missed calls. No texts. I let it go pretty easily, knowing that Cullen's probably just as busy with his family, but I've grown steadily more impatient since then.

Bree sits cross-legged in the middle of her bed, chattering away about grad school as I unpack. _God,_ she loves to brag. By the time all my clothes are hung in the closet or arranged in the dresser drawer she saved for me, I've heard all about her perfect GPA, her perfect boyfriend, and the perfect job offer she's already managed to score. Finally, I'm able to slip my phone into my toiletry bag and escape to the shower.

As I wait for the water to heat up, I take a deep breath and check my texts. Sure enough, there's one from Cullen.

 _You good?_

Two innocuous words send a stab through my heart—the kind that feels torturously good. I can see the exact expression he'd be wearing if he'd just asked me that in person.

It looks _so_ good.

I rush through my shower. I don't want to text him back. I want to hear his voice. When I'm scrubbed pink and warm, I put on my pajamas and a robe and sneak out onto the balcony off the living room.

He picks up after two rings. "Hey." His voice is deep and rumbly, but he sounds relieved.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I just remembered it's like one a.m. there."

"I wasn't asleep."

"It sounds like you were."

"I was too preoccupied to sleep."

"I've been pretty preoccupied myself."

"Why's that?"

I know he's teasing me, but I scoff anyway. "Cullen."

"Swan."

"Are we going to talk about what you said in the airport?"

"I don't know. Are we?"

"Be serious."

"I'm being serious. I wasn't sure if you even heard me." There's a pause, and he clears his throat. "You didn't…like…react."

Huh.

I didn't react?

I guess maybe it didn't look like it on the outside, but… "If only you could see inside my head." I laugh. "Wait, I take that back. Nobody needs to see that mess."

He chuckles but doesn't say anything.

"Trust me. I was reacting internally."

"You're going to have to clarify that for me."

"In a good way! I was reacting in a good way. I think."

"You _think_?"

"I mean it was a good thing. What you said. I was just in shock. It was totally unexpected, and then you were gone."

He sighs. "In hindsight, my timing probably wasn't great, and I probably shouldn't have walked off. But it felt right. It just kind of happened."

"Organic," I say.

"Huh?"

"It was organic."

"Yeah, I guess." In my mind's eye, I can see his trademark embarrassed shrug. "I've been thinking about it for a few days. I wasn't sure if I knew what it even meant. But then I did know, and the words just came to me. The important thing is that I meant it."

I swallow, and when I find my voice again, it's a little squeaky. "You did?"

"I did. I do. I love you."

A rush of emotion surges through me. "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. I'm glad." Saying it over the phone pales in comparison to his gentle words in my ear and his sweet kiss on my forehead. But like he said, in this moment, I know, and the words just sort of happen. "I…think I love you, too."

His reaction is a little whoosh of breath paired with the cutest, most heartwarming laugh I've ever heard. "You think so?"

"Yeah." I giggle and half-sing the phrase a la The Partridge Family. " _I think I love you…_ "

"I'll take it," he replies.

We chat for a few more minutes until he starts to drift off, and then we say a simple goodbye with a promise to talk tomorrow. When I pry open the sliding glass door, my mom's sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, watching some cheesy movie on the Hallmark channel.

"Everything okay?" she asks. "Your face looks a little red."

I touch my cheeks, and they're just as warm to the touch as his words made me feel.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

She raises an eyebrow. "There's only one person you could've been talking to if you're blushing like that."

We might live 3,000 miles apart now, but she still knows me better than anyone. So instead of saying goodnight and avoiding any mention of Edward Cullen like my first instinct told me to do, I curl up next to her on the couch and spill my guts.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay. So. There's really no excuse not to update a story in two years (HOW HAS IT BEEN TWO YEARS?!), but so much stuff happened at once, and I fell out of the writing thing for a little while, and then I had to get to know these characters again, and blah blah blah. So basically, I got pregnant, puked for basically six months of the pregnancy, had a sweet little baby girl, and everything else (including my freelance work) went on the back burner. She's 15 months old now and is an absolute dream. So anyway, there's that. If you're still reading this, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I promise I haven't abandoned this at all. It just literally took me years to write this one chapter. Now that she's more independent and takes predictable naps (and I got inspired again), I should be able to delve back into this story more often. Thanks again for reading, and as always, thanks to Rachelfish for her unending love and support. :)


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